


Shards

by Valenix



Series: Chronicle Anachronis [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental murdering of loved ones, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anachronisms, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Attempt(s), Author is having an existential crisis, Hurt Tony Stark, Identity Porn, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Pining, Protective Avengers, Protective Steve Rogers, Science Bros, Secret Identity, Serious Illness, Temporary Character Death, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-04-29 15:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14475252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valenix/pseuds/Valenix
Summary: ~*NO LONGER ON HIATUS*~Five years ago, Tony Stark went missing; after three months he appeared in the city again, drunk and scarred and undeniably changed.Now there's the looming threat of war; an assassin is loose in the city; a mysterious figure encased in magical armour is wandering the streets of Marvel. And it seems like something's wrong with Tony.Perhaps the engineer's secrets are bigger than they seem.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Five years before..._

It wasn’t uncommon for beggars to turn up at the castle gates on a gloomy, drizzly night. It was half expected - there was some decent shelter to be found there, if nothing else - and the guards were prepared with secret rations they snuck from the kitchens to give to the most desperately needy that arrived.

This was new, though.

“AND ANOTHER THING,” the newcomer slurred, rattling his bottle of scotch unsteadily on the edge of the fountain and squinting heavily at the guard in front of them. “I am a NOBLE. I am an ENGINEER. I’m a DELIGHT to be around, and I don’t see why you’re not just letting me through-”

Sam leaned against the gate, grinning. “So you say.”

“And I have VERY IMPORTANT. VERY IMPORTANT THINGS.” The man swayed a little, a hand was pressed firmly to his chest, as though protecting it, perhaps from the strap of the bag slung over his body. “I am, just, so INCREDIBLY important.”

“Right. And that’s why you’re standing in a fountain.”

The stranger looked down for a few long seconds, seemingly only just now taking in the fact that he was ankle deep in water. He frowned back up at the gate in front of him, then looked down again.

“… Oh.”

“Look, buddy, why don’t you just go home and sleep it off? Tomorrow you can come back and we’ll all have a good laugh. Hm?”

The man pointed his bottle at the guard, eyeing him over it with narrowed eyes even as he swayed. “You,” he proclaimed, in an arch voice. “I don’t like you.”

“… Tony?”

The man in the fountain slumped in relief and staggered out of the water, his boots sloshing and squelching under him as he reached the gate. He reached an arm through the bars, clutching at the doctor standing on the other side. “Bruce. Brucie bear. I’ve missed you. Lots. Lotta lots. Make them let me in.”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Bruce replied, staying just out of his friend’s reach. “You’ve been missing for months, we’ve been worried sick, and now you just- you turn up here, drunk off your… ass…”

Something about Tony’s face made him trail off. His eyes - they were too steady, certain, and serious to belong to a drunkard on a night-long bender.

Bruce glanced up at the guard; he was chuckling quietly to himself, clearly buying the drunk facade.

“… Let him in, Sam. He’s an idiot, but he’s an important one.”

“SEE!” Tony yelled, spinning around and waving his very empty bottle of scotch at the guard, who sighed and grabbed the keys. “VERY IMPORTANT. LIKE I SAID.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” Sam pulled the gate open, standing aside so Tony could stagger through into Bruce’s reluctant arms. “Listen, Bruce - I run a group. You should probably get him to come along one night. It’ll do him some good.” He eyed Tony’s sodden feet. “Or his boots, anyway.”

Bruce nodded absently, patting Tony on the back - the engineer had latched onto him in an awkward, swaying hug. “We’ve tried, Sam. Try again when he’s sober.”

Sam shrugged. “The offer’s there, if you can convince him.”

Bruce smiled politely, taking the bottle from Tony’s hand and slinging his arm over his shoulders. With a nod - and a sloppy wave from Tony - the pair of scientists crossed the inner courtyard and ducked into the castle’s front hall.

“Remind me to check out that group,” Tony muttered into his ear. “Give them money. Or something.”

“Why?” Bruce glanced sideways, a wry grin sneaking up on one side of his face. “Think you might go? Or are you just feeling guilty?”

“Whatever for?”

They turned a corner, and Tony detached himself from his seemingly drunken embrace and leaned against the wall as Bruce unlocked the door to the workshop. Bruce smiled. He glanced up as the lock clicked and he swung the door open. “You’re not really drunk, are you?”

Tony shook his head, totally dropping the facade the moment they passed through the laboratory door. He seemed to deflate while Bruce busied himself with locking the door. “I, uh. I didn’t want anybody to know.”

“Know? Know about what?”

Tony didn’t answer; he simply grunted and slumped against a workbench - and from there, immediately sank to the ground. Bruce wasn’t fast enough to catch him on the way down, but a moment later he was crouched there in front of his friend, hands already searching for injuries before he even registered what he was doing. Tony waved him aside - or, well, tried to - but gave up as soon as Bruce’s searching hands brushed against his abnormally hot forehead.

“I may have- ow, shit, be gentle- I might’ve fucked up a little,” he said. Bruce pulled the strap of Tony’s bag over his head and checked his neck, finding a pulse that was running far too fast. “I guess. Just a bit. There’s a slight chance that I’m-”

He stopped talking, when Bruce pulled aside his cloak.

Bruce stared for a long moment, unable to comprehend exactly what he was seeing. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, completely lost for words. “Tony,” he finally whispered, for a moment feeling nothing but horror for his friend, a stirring of anger threatening to roar into life hovering in the back of his mind. The signs of infection and pain were suddenly blindingly obvious on Tony’s face, now that the drunken facade was gone.

“I’m in real trouble,” Tony whispered. He looked broken, defeated, and so incredibly tired, that Bruce felt his heart ache.

With the flip of an internal switch Bruce mentally pulled off the mask of a friend and replaced it with that of a doctor; cold, objective, and calm. He left Tony where he was to hurry around his lab. He tore the medical kit from its little alcove by the door and ripped out bandages, gauze, and disinfectant. Found a pair of scissors he used to cut away what was left of the blood-soaked shirt. He swept everything off the workshop bench, and then let himself turn green for a moment - just a moment - to give him the strength needed to haul Tony on top of it as gently as he could manage .

A moment later he was measuring out a dose of anaesthetic.

“Wait,” Tony gasped, his face a terrible shade of grey. “Wait, Bruce, I need you to- in my bag. In my bag. Hide it.”

Bruce ignored him, concentrating on the needle as he inserted it, but Tony clutched at his sleeve with surprising strength. “Please, Bruce. If they find it, it’ll- they’ll destroy- promise me.  _ Promise _ me.”

Bruce stared at him, the now empty needle forgotten. Tony shook him again, harder, desperation in his eyes. “ **_Please._ ** ”

“Okay,” Bruce offered, with a brief solemn nod. “I’ll hide it - once you’re patched up. Okay?”

Tony nodded, and Bruce could see just how quickly the anaesthetic took hold - the look of relief on his friend’s features remaining even after he’d slipped into sleep.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years later.

The guard was new - his mother a well-respected guard, his father a pleasant baker. He’d dreamed of becoming a guard, of following in his Ma’s footsteps, since he’d been a toddler. His father would later Steve, with a hitch in his breath, that my son had been thrilled to finally start work at the castle.

And he’d been murdered in the dead of night, seemingly without cause.

Clint slipped through the window, carefully avoiding stepping on any of the broken glass. At Steve’s glance he shook his head, solemn and quiet. He then carefully followed the invisible footsteps only he could see in the pattern of shattered glass. “Whoever it was,” he muttered, “They’re highly trained.” He traced another step, tilting his head to the side, looking for some disturbance to lead him onward. “No marks on the walls, no tiles disturbed above. It’s like they appeared out of nowhere.”

“Redwing’s found nothing either.”

Across the room, Sam was an eerie sight, slumped against a wall with closed eyes lit from within. Somewhere high above the castle, circling and watching everything below, Redwing’s eyes glowed a similar red - the only outwardly visible sign of the psychic bond the two shared. It never stopped being faintly disturbing to watch, but Steve was infinitely glad for it now.

He glanced around the room, taking in the dishevelled appearance of everyone around him. Natasha looked tired. At his questioning glance she shook her head, a look of faint annoyance crossing her brow. Her inquiries among the staff and townsfolk must have come up empty. Sam’s face was drawn and tight; Clint was unusually serious; Tony looked simply shattered, sitting against a wall and staring at the patch of blood on the carpet, hand covering his mouth, eyes blank.

Steve was the King, and these were his people, but he had no idea what to say.

“All we know right now,” Natasha sighed, apparently feeling the lengthy silence had gone on long enough, “Is that he was alone, that one of the maids heard yelling, but that the kid was dead before help arrived.”

In the corner Tony pulled a leg up closer to his chest and folded his arms across the top of it - a move that Steve recognised as defensive. Tony had been the ‘help’ that arrived, and if Steve knew anything about the scientist, it was that he didn’t take failure well.

He forced himself to look away, before anybody noticed him staring.

“Nobody saw or heard anything suspicious?”

“Only one - a witness swears he saw a man in town wearing some kind of mask, said he saw a gauntleted hand under their cloak, and watched as he scaled a building by hand. He was drunk at the time, though.”

Steve saw Sam’s eyebrow arch slightly and suppressed a humourless smile. That witness would probably be getting pamphlets in the mail.

“We know he’s roughly your height, though,” Clint said, nodding at Steve. He gestured at his foot, placed carefully inside a larger footprint left behind in the pattern of glass. “He has a similar shoe size.”

Natasha nodded. “And they’re likely of similar build, judging by the wounds they left behind.”

“Do we even know what they want?”

Steve’s eyes flickered back to Tony, faintly surprised that he spoke up. The inventor looked faintly ill.

“No demands have been made,” he said. Then, in a hollow voice, “They were all connected to me, though.”

Tony’s eyes darted up to him, and he frowned - as though he didn’t see the connection at all, as though he was expecting a different answer. “How so?”

“He was meant to be part of my patrol yesterday,” Steve said. “The maid was bringing me food in my chambers after I couldn’t eat at dinner. The others - the others were in the library with me. They died when I left them alone.”

“You’re not the only one with connections to them, you know,” Tony said. His voice seemed strangely bitter.

“No,” Sam said. “But Steve’s the only one that makes sense.”

Tony hung his head, his eyes falling shut - and for a moment, his mask slipped.

Steve had noticed a change in him since he’d gone missing five years ago; he’d become nervous, thinner, scarred somehow. He hid it well with brilliant smiles and cunning jokes, so well that sometimes Steve genuinely forgot that anything had ever been wrong. But now and then, when Tony didn’t think anybody was actually looking, when things became too much, Steve could see underneath the mask.

What he saw worried him.

He carefully looked away when Tony lifted his head again; pretended to ignore the pinched look of concern Tony was directing out the window.

Clint hummed slightly as he leaned back against the window, carefully inspecting the ledge. “Some moss and lichen here-” he said, pointing at a few specks of green on the edge of the carpet that Steve raised an eyebrow at. They didn’t look exactly noteworthy. “- But there’s not much moss around in the city.”

“There’s plenty in the gardens, under the North wall.”

“On it.”

Somewhere high above the castle, Redwing changed course.

A gentle knock on the door jamb startled all but Sam out of their silent reverie. Carol grimaced apologetically as she stepped inside. “I’ve increased the guard presence in the city again, your Majesty. Some keen volunteers stepped forward to help, too.”

That surprised him. “The people know?”

“Pepper held a public counsel a couple hours ago; how she managed it after dark I’m not sure, but you know what she’s like. Her efficiency scares me. Speaking of- we’re also organising for everyone of import in the castle to be accompanied by guards at all times. That includes the advisors, nobles, those at the Academy-”

“Oh come on,” Tony groused, finally broken out of his thoughts. “They always get in my way, and they ask me questions-”

“Keep them outside your door, if you must, but if you get killed, don’t come crying to me about it. Steve, I’ve arranged for six guards to be near you at all times.”

Steve stared up at her, appalled. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“They’ll be working in shifts, if that makes it any better.”

“All the previous attacks have been on servants! On common folk! I won’t let guards be wasted on me when they could be out protecting someone less capable of defending themselves.”

“You just told us that all the attacks have been on people tied to you,” Natasha said, an eyebrow raised. “You don’t think they’ll try to make a direct attack some time soon?”

“It could make those innocent guards a target!”

“In that case,” Natasha quipped. “Think of it as you protecting the guards.”

Steve realised he was standing, that he’d started pacing, and took a moment to run a shaky hand through his hair. “Fine. Fine. I think- let me know if you find anything else.”

He stalked out of the room before anybody could stop him.

* * *

“I heard you were meant to be under guard.”

Steve looked up sharply. The scene was quiet - the room where the boy had died still as it’d been left the day before - and he’d thought he’d been subtle enough that he wouldn’t be caught.

Apparently he was wrong.

“I heard you were meant to be a myth,” he countered, watching the metal armour move slightly in the doorway.

The faceplate glinted as it tilted its head to the side. “Seems we’re both wrong?”

The voice was strange. Echoey. But to Steve’s ears it still sounded faintly pleased.

In the moonlight the armour looked like normal metal, though sleek and well designed in a way that simply wasn’t possible with the efforts of a normal smith. It changed when the suit shifted slightly in space, though. The plates moved over each other like water, like liquid, never entirely in one place, always changing shape. 

Steve had heard all the stories. People in the city talked, and the rumours of a magic set of armour was a particular favourite for the citizens of Marvel. Mostly the stories were favourable, of course; notorious criminals turning up up either dead or tied up somewhere convenient for the local Guards to find them; people being rescued at the last moment from certain death; various cats rescued from various trees.

Steve knew most of them were just stories, but the crime rate had definitely fallen significantly when the city’s major crime rings were apprehended with surprising ease. Everybody wanted in on the mystery that was Iron Man, so almost all of the stories were hyperbole a best. At worst, they were complete falsehoods.

Steve himself had only seen the armour once before now. It had taken a blow meant for him, saving his life.

In the process, it had let Bucky fall to his death.

Steve stood, slowly, and for a moment they quietly sized each other up. The white-blue glow from the armour’s chest, eyes and hands was the only light they needed.

“Some of the people think you’re human,” Steve said.

“Do you think I am?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“It would make me a criminal.”

“It would,” Steve said. His eyes glinted dangerously in the dark. “Would it make this your work?”

Steve gestured at where the boy had been found. The armour was silent for a moment, the unblinking, glowing eyes staring at him. “No,” it said, and for a moment Steve thought the mechanical voice seemed strained.

“Liar,” Steve snarled, and he leapt forward, sword glowing faintly as it arced down toward the armour’s head.

It smoothly slipped to the side, hands held up. “Woah, now. Let’s just take a minute.”

“Murderer,” Steve hissed, lunging again. The blow connected with the armour’s side, and the next on its arm; neither pierced the magical metal shell, but he was sure there would be at least some bruising left in its wake. The armour staggered backward, and Steve followed, but the next moment the armour’s palms were facing him and he was flying across the room, falling in a tangle of limbs.

The armour was staring at the floor, shoulders rising and falling as the person inside it breathed.

“I am here to… investigate,” the armour said, its voice sounding even more strained than it had before. Steve frowned slightly. “The boy. I think I know who might have killed him, and I wanted to get a closer look.”

“One of your friends?”

The armour hesitated. “Not really, no.”

Steve hissed as he climbed to his feet, the burns on his torso stinging even as they started to heal over. For once, Steve was bitterly glad for the ethereal skills he’d gained in battle. He picked up the sword again, already stalking forward.

“Why would a murderer like you care about another innocent victim?” Steve asked, and he darted forward to make another swing, moving faster, channeling through his sword all the magic he could spare. The armour smoothly dodged the blow, the next one, too. The third hit its thigh, and Steve was harshly pleased to see it cut through, digging into the strange armour by about an inch. The armour grunted, and when Steve jolted the sword in further it let out a small while of pain. “Did you kill him for this?” he muttered, hand firm on the armoured chest. He shoved it back, lightly. “To make your magic stronger?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” the armour said, quiet, and Steve could hear guilt and shame dripping through its echoey voice. “I never asked for it.”

“What, this kid, or all the others? How many have you killed? How many lives does it take to become as strong as you?”

“One thousand, three hundred and sixty four.”

Steve paused, momentarily surprised. He hadn’t expected the armour to even know. “And do you feel any remorse?”

The armour was silent for a second, its shoulders slumped forward. The reply was so quiet he could have missed it, if he weren’t standing in its space, if his sword wasn’t still buried in its leg.

“More than you could ever know.”

Steve stared at it, taking a step backward, dragging his sword with him, darkly pleased to see blood running thickly down the blade. The armour swayed. For a moment it looked like it was going to fall, but it caught itself with a hand on the window ledge.

They stayed there, Steve glaring at it, the armour looking away, Steve’s sword and the armour’s leg both dripping with blood. A few seconds passed before the armour took a shaky breath and ran its gauntleted hand through the air above the window sill. Small wisps of magic, pure and blue, settled across it like dust, collecting and settling around what were quickly revealed to be a glowing set of footprints. They aligned perfectly with the ones Clint had outlined already, and continued on long past where Clint had lost track. “I was going to see what path they took,” the armour continued, a gradual arc of its hand revealed more glowing blue footprints across the room, moving into the corridor. “I want them dead, just as much as you do. I can keep the trail live for a few hours, but after that…”

The voice trailed off after Steve crossed to the window and leaned out. Outside the glowing blue footprints and handholds descended down into the courtyard below, where they led back in the direction of the northern wall.

“Why?” he asked. “What did you plan to do if you found them?”

The armour was gone by the time he turned around, not a drop of blood to be seen on floor where it had so recently been standing.

* * *

“Tell me again exactly how this happened?”

Steve grumbled, internally embarrassed, as he let his horse pick its way through the forest floor. Faintly glowing footprints - fading by the minute - stretched under the bracken ahead of them; the lanterns they all held aloft the only other light they had to go by.

“There’s no need to be so sour. Just because you didn’t spot the trail doesn’t mean we don’t value your failed attempts to be useful.”

“Nat. That’s just hurtful. I am an excellent tracker who is excellent at tracking things.”

“Which is why we needed a villain’s help to find the trail you somehow missed.”

“Our Big Bad Assassin is pretty fucking good at his job,” Clint grumbled. He paused. “Besides, I don’t think Iron Man’s a villain.”

“What?”

Steve didn’t realise he’d pulled his horse up short until it danced sideways under him. Nat’s face was impassive as ever, but Clint’s jaw was stubbornly set.

“I just don’t think he is! I’ve never seen any concrete evidence of the guy doing anything bad, and we all know he’s done a lot of good. Why would he help us if he were a bad guy?”

“Aye,” Thor boomed, completely oblivious to the frosty glare Steve was suddenly directing his way. “I sense a noble spirit in that armour.”

“You’ve seen him?”

Thor nodded, the epitome of royalty. “Many times. He and I have a wager together,” he said, voice sombre and stern. “I think I will win, but it’s yet to be seen.”

“You have a bet. With a mythical being.”

Thor’s eyes glinted mischievously. “His money is not so mythical, my friend - and for a myth, he is surprisingly open to wagers.”

Natasha eyed them carefully, with an unreadable expression. “One witness said the assassin had a metal arm,” she pointed out. “Perhaps they’re one and the same?”

“I don’t think so,” Thor replied, forehead creased in thought, missing the tiny, transient smile of approval on Natasha’s face. “They also claimed the assassin was wearing no other armour besides the arm and a mask over only part of his face - Iron Man has never shown any of his flesh at all.”

“Plus, Iron Man’s a bit showy. Red and gold doesn’t lend itself to quiet hits in the night.”

“Iron Man is a _ criminal _ ,” Steve stated, surprising even himself with the venom in his voice. “I can’t trust a man who hides behind that much magic.”

The others were silent as Steve nudged his horse forward again, following the last fading footprints over a small ledge to look down at a stream. From above them the gentle patter of rain echoed through the trees, shaken loose from the leaves above by a stirring breeze.

The footprints disappeared in the water, apparently washed away in the current.

“They could have gone either way,” Clint muttered. “There’s no way to know without that trail to follow.”

Another shake of the trees above brought down another small storm of raindrops. They landed amongst the glowing footprints, washing spots of the faintly glowing dust away. Far above them an echo of thunder rolled lazily over the hills.

“A storm is approaching,” Thor warned. Steve realised he’d been staring at the stream for too long, that the others were all watching him. Thor laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I fear that this trail has gone cold. We should return, before the storm overtakes us.”

Steve scowled, and turned his horse around.

* * *

“Tony?”

The man sitting at the workbench went very still, his silhouette stark against the lamp he was working under, and for a moment Steve felt a twinge of concern ripple through him. Usually the inventor was pleased to see him, eager and excited to shove his latest nonsensical invention in his face and rattle off a thousand new ideas and theories, perpetually incapable of sitting still for even a passing moment. Steve didn’t have to see Tony’s face or hands to know that the screwdriver in his hands suddenly went still, and for some reason that moment’s hesitation rocketed up to the top of his list of concerns.

It only lasted a moment, though. Tony turned, somehow hesitant, and Steve caught a sliver of his closely guarded expression before it broke into a small, genuine smile. “Hey,” he replied, seeming faintly confused. “Did you need anything?”

Steve shook his head, holding up his well-worn sketchbook. “It’s cold, and it’s raining, and the trail we were following ran dry. I needed to get my mind of it, so I thought I’d come and join you - if you’re not busy?”

Steve thought he caught a tiny glimmer of disappointment and surprise on the genius’s face, before it was carefully hidden away.

“If you must,” Tony groused, but the faint smile that grew on his face softened his voice. He gestured idly at Steve’s usual haunt - the couch against the wall in front of him - and turned back to his work. Steve moved thankfully toward it, casting a curious glance at the royal inventor as he did so.

Tony was intent on his work, lower lip held enticingly between his teeth, foot tapping softly against the ground. Steve entertained a momentary fantasy - of coming up behind the man as he worked, wrapping his arms around his waist, burying his nose in his hair, trailing his lips across his neck-

As he sank into the couch, something about Tony’s posture stuck him as being slightly off. His shoulders were slightly too tense; he almost seemed to be listing to one side; the shadows under his eyes, an ever present side-effect of Tony’s penchant for late nights and inventing binges, were startlingly and unusually dark.

He frowned, unsure how to proceed, as he lit the small gas lamp next to the couch. Usually Tony was the one to bring him out of a brooding mood - not the other way around.

“Tell me about your latest plans?” he probed, opening his sketchbook while pretending to be fully engrossed in selecting the right pencil to use. Tony blinked and looked up at him, almost as though he were only just noticing him there.

“My plans?”

“Yeah. What are you building?”

Tony looked puzzled, if pleased, as he held up the contraption in his hands. “It’s something for Natasha, actually. Why?”

Steve shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward. “It looks interesting,” he tried. “Very… uh, sciency.”

Tony lifted an eyebrow, a smirk of amusement slowly creeping across his mouth, and Steve hoped he wasn’t blushing when he thought of kissing it away. “Sciencey,” Tony said, voice deadpan and dripping with amusement.

“Sciencey,” Steve agreed. “And, uh, I like hearing about what you’re doing. It’s interesting, even if I don’t know what you’re talking about all the time, and I think I need the distraction.”

“From?”

“Hunting down our assassin.” Steve shrugged, looking away.

It was odd, when he glanced back, to see how Tony’s friendly smile faltered at the mention of the attack, something oddly like guilt crossing his expression before it was carefully replaced with a blank mask.

“It’s a mechanism for some wristbands,” Tony said, holding the contraption in his hand up enough for Steve to see, glancing hesitantly at the king’s face as though gauging whether he should continue. The sound of the rain outside faded away, as he found himself focusing on Tony’s voice instead. “Once I get them working they’ll be able to deliver a small amount of poison from this compartment here - uh, someone called her the Black Widow recently and I couldn’t let that go without running with it - and if I can get it working maybe I’ll add a shock mechanism. Eventually I’m going to-”

Steve zoned out a little, content to listen to the calming timbre of Tony’s voice as he explained concepts Steve didn’t bother trying to understand, as the storm outside died down and finally cleared away. He glanced up now and then - having chosen Tony, once again, as his drawing inspiration - and was relieved to see the odd tenseness soon melt away into the blind enthusiasm Steve loved so much.

If he let his gaze linger on Tony’s mouth as he talked, now and then, who was to blame him?

* * *

Steve wasn’t sure exactly how he ended up in the kitchens, a few hours later. He’d been intending to go to bed, and had told Tony as such, the genius barely noticing him leave - but tradition called to him, and there was no way he could deny it.

The day had been a disastrous mess, but the mug of cocoa carefully cradled in his hands was grounding. He carried it outside and sat delicately on the back step of the castle kitchen, staring up at the stars.

Behind and above him he could hear the soft sounds of people moving, quietly going about their business; the early risers preparing for the day ahead. Crickets chirped from one of the garden beds nearby. An owl hooted back in reply.

This had been their tradition, when they were small - Steve and Bucky, giggling and sleepy, two princes staring up at the night sky and naming the constellations after all the people they knew. Sometimes they would read secret messages between the stars that they would whisper to each other, not wanting to let anybody else in on their meaning. The kindly cook would hand them each a cup of cocoa, and by the time Queen Sarah arrived to collect them they would have chocolate milk moustaches and sleepy, tired eyes.

They’d never stopped, as they grew up. They had sat here, the night before leaving on that final battle, debating over strategy and quietly offering each other the support they were both too shy to ask for.

Now that Bucky was gone, the stars seemed much further away. There weren’t any secrets written in the gaps between them anymore.

“I miss you,” he said, quietly.

Silence.

“I think you would be able to protect them better,” he continued, voice little more than a whisper. The mug in his hands was cooling, and he stared at the chocolatey liquid as he gently swirled it. A little spilled over the side, and he caught it with his thumb. “You’d know what to do - you always did. You probably would have found the bastard by now.”

The wind rustled through the grass nearby, but no voice gave him a reply.

If he concentrated, but didn’t look, he could almost feel his friend’s silent presence beside him - an echo of warmth on an otherwise chilly night.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there before the cooling mug of cocoa was tugged away from his tired fingers, replaced by another - this one hot and steaming. A hand ghosted through his hair; a blanket softly draped itself around his shoulders.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Tony told him, his voice low and soft. “We both know he would want you to be healthy and warm. Dawn’s almost upon us.”

Steve nodded and took a sip, listening as Tony poured out a second mug for himself. He considered asking the inventor to join him, asking if he could see anything hidden in the sky, but by the time he turned around the man was gone.

Somehow, that was familiar.

* * *

The Asset watched.

He’d followed his mark as he went to the kitchens to make himself a mug of cocoa; watched as he settled by a window, staring up at the starry night above.

He was alone, and nobody was visible nearby - it would be almost too easy.

Something made him stop, though.

His mark was closely protected, followed by guards he couldn’t see, that his mark himself wasn’t aware of, but guards the Asset could certainly sense nearby. He had close friends - a lover too, if the scene he’d just watched were to be trusted - and secret skills only his most trusted friends knew and understood.

His lover he could disregard - or dispose of, if necessary. But he had heard stories of the assassins and spies in the King’s employ, and he didn’t need any disturbances when he finally made his hit.

He narrowed his eyes, and settled in to watch.

He would catch his mark alone soon.

He could wait.

* * *

“Okay, I get it. You think it’s small.”

“Abnormally so.”

“What I’m saying, though, what I’m saying and what you’re not hearing, is that it’s not the size that counts.”

“I’m pretty sure the bigger it is, the better.”

“The size doesn’t matter! It’ll do its job properly - besides, it’s all about how he uses it.”

“It’s the size of a dinner plate, Tony.”

“Maybe one of yours.”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow in disdain.

“… Yeah, you’re right,” Tony said, somehow reading Rhodey’s expression despite being otherwise engaged and facing literally the opposite direction. “That was lazy. I’m not at peak form.”

Rhodey hummed in amused agreement, content to wait for a moment as Tony concentrated on tightening a loose screw. The genius tested the tightness again, apparently deeming it satisfactory, and gathered his tools.

He eyed the way he moved, idly tapping a spare arrow against his palm. He didn’t miss the way the genius winced whenever he put his weight on his left leg, or the odd way he was handling his tools - almost as though he was hiding injuries under his unseasonably long sleeves. A bruised arm, he thought. Perhaps a bruised rib or two.

He was worried.

“You know,” he said, soft and slow. “I’ve been hearing some rumours.”

Tony dropped the handful of tools into the box he’d brought from the workshop smithy at Rhodey’s feet and squinted up at him - the dark circles under his eyes suddenly much more vivid. “Of?”

“A strange apparition walking the streets. Some guy in a magical suit of armour.”

Tony’s movement slowed, and his eyes flickered away, suddenly very focused on his hands as he wiped them down the front of his clothes, leaving streaks and patches of axle grease behind.

It was easier, close up, to see the way the inventor was favouring his hidden injuries; Rhodey thought he could see his friend’s trouser leg catching on what he guessed was a bandage underneath, wrapped around his mid thigh. Rhodey wondered if Tony had needed stitches - if he’d done them himself, or if he’d let Bruce dress his wounds for once.

“That’s a myth,” the genius finally settled on. “And you know it.”

“Do I?”

Tony hummed slightly as he wandered off again to fiddle with the automatic targets he’d set up in the midst of the trees. To each he administered one of his Very Important Scientific Tests - that is, he kicked the base a couple times - to ensure it was in proper working order.

When it was clear the engineer wasn’t intending to say anything more, Rhodey sighed and followed him.

“Look, I can see you limping. What happened?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know you shouldn’t be going out there-”

“God, I wish Steve would show up right now.”

“- Not on your own, and definitely not when it’s still making you sick, let alone injured!”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You look like a mess.”

It was true. He was paler than usual, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced, his cheeks more gaunt. Rhodey was achingly familiar with the signs; he’d seen them every time Iron Man had been spotted over the past 5 years. They’d been getting worse, though, as time continued. Tony was far more tired now than he used to be, far diminished of his past self, and Rhodey was more worried than he could describe.

“I look perfect. I always look perfect. I’m the epitome of beauty. I’m personally insulted that you apparently think otherwise and I shall write a very strongly worded letter.”

“To who, me?”

“No, Carol.”

Rhodey winced slightly at the thought, but brushed it aside. “You don’t need to-”

“Yes I  **do** .”

The bitter edge in Tony’s voice brought him up short. Tony gave the last target one good, solid kick before stalking back past his friend, avoiding looking him in the eye.

“… It’s not your fault, Tones.”

Instantly, Tony exploded.

“I was the one who found him, you know that? The woman last week, too - both of them hired because I pulled some strings. The other two were kids I thought would be good in the Academy, kids I was secretly tutoring, who were only in the library because I told them what to study, and you and I are both aware that the assassin is probably targeting me for reasons that the entire city is completely unaware of. I’m putting people in danger just by being here. I should leave, but I’m selfish, so I’m going to do the next best thing and hunt down the bastard with the only weapon I have at my disposal before he can kill more innocent people!”

“It’s going to kill you!”

“At least I’m not innocent!”

Rhodey bit his tongue.

He recognised the old argument for what it was, and knew that any attempt to dispute Tony’s claim would end in a raging fight that would take days to settle down. Instead, as the moment of silence settled around them, he gently pulled his oldest friend into a one-sided hug. “As long as it’s me, I don’t care,” Tony muttered, but he leaned into the touch, slowly wrapped his arms around him, buried his face in his shoulder.

“I care,” Rhodey said, low and soft and accentuated with a gentle shake of Tony’s shoulder. “Pepper cares. Bruce cares. Nat and Clint and Sam and Carol and Thor and everyone else care.” Rhodey hid a smile - not that Tony was looking up to see it. “Steve especially cares.”

Tony stiffened at that last one, but he didn’t protest, so Rhodey counted it as a win.

They stayed there for a moment before Tony awkwardly pulled away, a weak smile on his face. Seemingly at a loss for what to say - forever awkward in serious situations - he picked up the shield from where it lay on the ground nearby. “Look,” Tony said, holding it above their heads, shielding them from the sun. “It even functions as an umbrella. This is a very useful shield.”

“It would be a better umbrella if it were bigger.”

“There’s no pleasing you.”

It wasn’t until several minutes later, when they were both sitting against the oak tree and idly waiting, all the mechanisms tweaked far more than they ever had to be, that Tony finally leaned his head on Rhodey’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he whispered, voice low enough that Rhodey wouldn’t have heard him if they weren’t so close.

He jostled his head off his shoulder, playfully shoved him away, and grinned at the affronted glare he got in return.

Playfulness was the only way he’d found to communicate to Tony that everything is okay.

“So when do you think the he’s gonna get here?” he asked, choosing not to bring up the sore subject again.

“Dunno. He was meant to be here by now, actually.”

“Meant to be? You did ask him, right?”

“Of course I didn’t.” Tony clambered to his feet and crossed to the small building at the front of the range. He shouldered the door open, shoved a quiver of arrows aside from their place under the window, and leaned through it to check the path back to the castle proper. It was oddly quiet, considering the time of day. He wrinkled his nose and turned to head back outside, not bothering to replace the quiver. “Carol told me he’d be coming here today. I was gonna surprise him.”

“And you’re sure Carol didn’t intentionally give you the wrong info just to screw with you?”

Tony froze halfway through the door, eyes wide. “She would do that, wouldn’t she.”

“If I’m honest, her willingness to screw with you is part of what makes her so attractive.”

“Fine.” Tony sighed, a picture of melodrama. He stepped out into the sunshine, squinting in the light. “Ask her out. Pick on me together. Your poor, innocent, genuinely-a-good-person friend, who has never done you any harm, who you love unconditionally, or at least used t-”

Tony crashed to the ground, a blur of deadly metal and kicked up dust and ghostly, magical armour, and Rhodey was on his feet and running less than a second later.

The attacker didn’t seem particularly concerned.

He knelt on Tony’s back, pressing him hard into the sandy dirt of the range with a snarl as he pulled the genius’s injured arm up and behind. Tony struggled, weakly, as the stranger held a knife to his neck.

Rhodey skidded to a stop, the dust of the range rising around his feet.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” the stranger said, his voice oddly robotic and monotone. “But I will, if I have to.”

Rhodey stepped back, dropping his sword to his side as he held his own hands aloft.

“For fuck’s sake, Rhodey, we were literally just discussing this.”

“Sorry, Tony, but I’m not as okay with you getting hurt as you apparently are.”

Tony meant to snarl out a witty remark, but the stranger shoved his head into the dirt. The genius spat the mouthful of dust out with a curse and a smile, and turned his palm upward to aim directly for his captor’s chest. “Surprise,” he coughed, and half a second later the man was thrown back against the wall in a burst of blue-white energy.

Rhodey didn’t hesitate, scooping his sword back up as he ran, firing off a burst of his own magic - far weaker than Tony’s, but still considerable - that sank completely harmlessly into the stranger’s left arm. He had a moment to wonder - barely registered the strange liquid-metal state of the arm that seemed awfully familiar - before he was aiming a slashing blow at the stranger’s head.

The man dodged, using the opening to deliver a crushing blow to the soldier’s stomach, and then a second to his jaw. He pulled a knife from somewhere, about to deposit it cleanly into Rhodey’s ribcage, before a second blast of energy sent it flying from his strange metal hand.

“Where are you even getting these knives?”

Rhodey grimaced, delivering an uppercut and following through by swinging his sword toward the stranger’s neck. He bit back a frustrated grunt when it didn’t hit its intended mark. “Now is not the time, Tony.”

“Well I don’t see any other opportunities to ask popping up soon,” Tony bit back. The armour rippled up from his hands, coating his arms to the shoulders and quickly flowing down over his torso as he joined the fray, leading with a kick at the assassin's knees. “I’m a curious man.”

The stranger’s brow creased, faintly, above the mask he wore over half his face, but a moment later the look was gone and he was lunging again for Tony’s neck, which earned him a repulsor blast to the chest. Rhodey took his chance, lunging again, channeling some of his own life-force into the sword as he went.

The blow connected, and the stranger stumbled, but a second later he righted himself. With strange, practiced ease, the soldier grasped Rhodey by the wrist, pulled him in, and then gripped the back of his neck. With a vicious snarl he slammed Rhodey’s head against the wall.

Rhodey slumped, limp, to the ground.

Tony didn’t register moving; he knew only that one moment he saw Rhodey fall and the next he was atop the stranger, wrestling for control as they traded blows between them. He pressed a palm to the stranger’s chest and let loose a torrent of magic that would have slain a dozen men, but the assassin only grunted and gripped him in an iron grip in return. Tony’s arm was wrenched backward, and he felt the crack as his wrist broke.

Well, on the upside, at least he didn’t have to hide his bruised arm from Steve any more.

He let the faceplate slide over his face and brought his head cleanly forward, slamming it into the assassin’s temple in an attempt to knock him out. Instead, the attacker grunted and wrapped his strong, liquid metal fingers around the genius’s neck. Tony scrabbled at the arms that held him, kicked at the Winter Soldier’s torso and legs and arms - anything he could possibly reach - as the stranger effortlessly lifted him into the air.

Somehow, in the confusion, Tony knocked the mask astray.

“Goddamnit,” Tony gasped, feeling some of his fight slip out of him. “I was really,  _ really _ hoping I was wrong.”

The cold, blank face of Bucky Barnes stared back at him, seemingly only vaguely interested in Tony’s weakening struggles for air.

Tony didn’t know exactly when he stopped being able to struggle, or how he was thrown to the ground, or when exactly the Winter Soldier drove his boot into the dead centre of Tony’s chest; all he knew was the white hot agony, so blinding that he could do nothing but clench his teeth and writhe, left only to gasp and whine in pain as the armour shattered into nothing around him.

Bucky paused, then stomped down harder. This time Tony couldn’t control his scream.

Some part of him was still aware enough of his surroundings to hear the yelling, to see the moment the stranger’s eyes flickered up, and the moment the Winter Soldier turned to flee. The rest of him sank into darkness, barely registering Steve skidding to a stop at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know this was meant to be a one-shot?
> 
> I'm already at 15k words, if you count plotting and snippets of future chapters
> 
> Please send help.
> 
> (Thanks to my amazing betas Dragonlover44 and HadesPuppy for being so helpful and patient!)


	3. Chapter 2

“I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

Steve growled in frustration, slamming a hand down on the workbench surface. “You went outside. Alone. When there’s a fucking assassin on the loose.”

“Rhodey was there!”

“Only because he just happened to stumble across you!”

“I told him to meet me there!”

“Oh, and that’s supposed to make this better? He’s only one person!”

“You and I both know he’s worth twice as much as most of our other guards.”

“I was meant to be there today. You didn’t think maybe the assassin would have been waiting there to target me?”

Tony's jaw snapped shut.

Steve glared at him, simmering quietly, for a moment rendered incapable of speech through sheer irritation alone.

Only Tony could do this to him.

“From now on, I want you- I want everyone to stay in populated areas. No going out alone without telling people first. Am I clear?”

The scientist met his gaze, glaring back as good as he got, but Steve could see the nervousness vibrating under his skin. Tony could never sit still on the best of days. He twitched and bounced and hummed and wriggled, forever a blue of movement, but he seemed especially twitchy now. His legs, hanging over the edge of the workbench, swung back and forth; his fingers drummed on the shield next to him.

“I was gonna surprise you,” Tony said, finally, fingers stilling. He ran a hand over the shield.

“Yeah, well, you managed it. What if we got there too late?”

Bruce shouldered him aside.

For a moment Steve stared at the scientist as he pressed a goblet filled with some kind of green slush into Tony’s good hand. He was sure, sure, that the normally mild-mannered man had shot him a warning look of his own. He glanced up to Tony, to see if he’d witnessed the uncharacteristic anger, but he was grimacing down into the cup as he let Bruce take his other arm, tossing the strange concoction back in a series of big gulps as Bruce pulled out the scissors.

Tony’s broken arm was red and swollen when Bruce cut away Tony’s sleeve, a sharp purple bruise around his forearm.

“You bruise quickly,” Steve said, the words out of his mouth before he realised it.

Tony’s and Bruce’s eyes were sharp when they looked up. “What do you mean?” Bruce said, slowly, glancing down at Tony’s arm again, pausing a moment before setting it against a splint. Tony watched, a smile twitching at the side of his mouth despite his obvious pain, like something about Steve’s accidental statement amused him.

“I just, uh, normally bruises don’t go purple until the next day or so,” Steve said. Feeling awkward, he moved around the workbench and sank into the couch on the other side. “At least, that’s how it works for most people.”

He couldn’t see Tony’s face, only the silhouette of his back, but he didn’t miss the knowing glance Bruce shot up at the engineer.

Tony shook his head, just slightly, and Bruce frowned; his eyes met Steve’s for half a second over the surface of the workbench, before he focussed once more on Tony’s arm.

It occurred to Steve, suddenly, that perhaps Bruce played doctor more often than he showed.

When he’d found Tony in the marksman range, gasping for air and curled up in agony, the genius had shoved him away like the very thought of someone trying to help him caused him physical pain. Now, for Bruce, he was completely open and obedient, somehow even comfortable with him, like it was perfectly natural for the scientist to be providing medical first aid despite not, technically, being a healer. Like this was something that happened on a regular basis.

His mind raced, pulling together snippets of memory as he watched the quiet scene in front of him, and Steve felt his throat go numb.

Tony hadn’t been quite as energetic as usual, lately.

He looked thinner, paler. His eyes were slightly less bright, ringed by faint bruise-like circles that he’d previously assumed were caused by a simple lack of sleep. The drink in his hand was the first thing he’d seen the engineer eat or drink in weeks, and he’d clearly hated every swallow. The curve of his spine seemed more pronounced, suddenly, as he stared at the engineer’s back, like he was carrying a significant burden on his shoulders.

A tingle of worry sat under Steve’s tongue, and he longed to ask what was wrong, but he knew Tony too well. If something was wrong, he would deny it.

He tried to tell himself he wasn’t jealous that Tony apparently trusted the scientist more than he trusted his king. It was irrational - of course the two were close, having worked together in the same workshop for years. They had a lot in common.

Bruce was quick at his work. The new splint was covered in bandages and plaster within minutes, Tony’s shoulders tense with pain but his quiet banter familiar and relaxed. Bruce ran a quick inspection over the rest of the small engineer’s frame, checking him over one last time before he returned to his studies. Steve didn’t miss the soft caress of Bruce’s hand on Tony’s thigh, the questioning glance he shot up into the genius’s eyes, the subtle nod Tony gave in reply, and with a sick lurch Steve understood why they were so comfortable together, why Tony didn’t bother to protest.

He’d spent so long dreaming of having Tony to himself, but maybe he was too late.

He didn’t say anything, staring at his pencil as he spun it between two fingers and trying to think of anything else.

Anything at all.

* * *

Tony knew where the trail had run cold; Steve himself had mentioned it, the night he came to the workshop. Clearly the Winter Soldier had chosen to use the stream as cover to prevent himself from being tracked.

It was how he found himself encased in armour and walking up the stream himself to avoid leaving tracks behind. Faintly he was aware of the irony - of needing to avoid being compared to the very being he was trying to track down.

He hadn’t had much luck. He’d been at it for hours, and he knew the trail had run cold. Making the trail visible the first time had taken almost everything out of him - doing it again, when it had been days, was impossible.

He just didn’t know what else to do.

“It’s a lovely day for a swim,” a voice called from within the trees.

It was often hard to read body language through the Iron Man armour. Though it was moulded almost perfectly to its wearer’s shape, its broad shapes concealed the subtleties of finer movement that was often most important in portraying certain emotions. Smiling was impossible to see, for instance. Sadness could only be seen if the onlooker paid very close and special attention to posture.

Surprise, however, was spectacularly obvious.

The armour just barely caught itself from falling completely into the stream itself, but it did slip and land with a splash in the shallows. Its attempt to grab for the nearest boulder succeeded only in leaving long scratches in the rock itself.

Coulson flashed it one of his blandest smiles.

“… Yeah,” Iron Man called back. Its slightly tinny voice sounded strangely high pitched as it got back up to its feet. Coulson got the distinct impression of a boy trying very hard to sound cool. “It’s, uh, it’s hot in here. Thought I’d cool down a bit.”

Coulson nodded, as though finding an enchanted set of armour slipping comically on moss covered rocks was a perfectly reasonable everyday occurrence. He bent to remove his shoes.

“Um, look, I’m gonna go-”

Coulson removed his socks and carefully folded them. He shot Iron Man an apologetic smile as he moved to roll up his pant legs.

“- Gonna go, uh, finish the thing. The, um, water testing. That’s what it was! I’m testing the water.”

“No need,” Coulson said. He paddled out to where Iron Man was still kneeling and offered an extended arm, helping to pull him to his feet. “We have people watching the water supply.”

“Is that- is that how you found me?”

“No,” Coulson smiled, and a sudden silence fell around them, the sound of the stream and the forest nearby fading into nothing. “A little birdy told me that a trail fell through here. I thought perhaps it would be worth investigating.”

“Let me guess - an itsy bitsy spider was with him?”

“No.” Coulson paused, glancing to the side as though checking behind him. “But she did let me know she’d seen you leave in this direction.”

The armour coughed.

Coulson’s smile stayed, like a strange mask, his posture oddly casual. But his head was tilted oddly toward the armour, and when next he spoke his voice was low and serious.

“We have a problem,” Coulson said, his eyes sharper than his smile betrayed. “Two of my agents in Hydra have been killed, but not before sending me vitally urgent information. They were based in the capital, vital informants to our cause.

“They managed to tell me Hydra is building an army,” Coulson said, his voice tight, steamrolling over Iron Man’s attempts to interject. “Just outside the capital troops are assembling en masse. The problem is that they’re just not going anywhere. There’s no evidence of them planning for a long journey, no extra food supplies or transport equipment.”

Iron Man was silent for a few moments, struggling to take it all in. “What does that mean?” he asked, deciding the direct line of inquiry was his best option.

“We’re not certain, but we think they’re waiting for something. I don’t believe the assassin is killing people randomly, but I also don’t believe they’re trying to make King Steve feel bad. I think whatever it is they’re looking for, it’s hidden somewhere here, and the Assassin has been sent to find it.”

Iron Man hesitated. “I had considered that possibility,” it said. Its voice, though distorted, sounded sad and strained.

Coulson watched the face mask closely, eyes narrowed.

“Why are you telling me, though? I’m a public enemy.”

Coulson looked away, a flicker in his calm, genial expression revealing cracks underneath. “I think it’s time we asked for outside help,” he admitted. “We believe Shield has been compromised. I have not informed anybody of this besides the King and a select few.”

“What.”

Coulson’s genial smile took a downward turn. “My agents found an information packet, and took the liberty of, uh, liberating it.”

He pulled a small book from his coat pocket, and began to flip through it. Pages upon pages displayed biographical information of various important figures and guards in Marvel City, the strange foreign text translated neatly in the margins by what seemed to be Coulson’s own script. Each page featured a basic description, some even a drawing; all of them described the subject’s role in the city and what abilities they had at their disposal. Natasha’s confidence trickery; Clint’s uncanny marksmanship; Sam and Redwing’s telepathic bond; Steve’s supernatural healing.

It was all highly secret information; the likes of which only an insider would have been able to provide.

“Why are you telling me this?” Iron Man asked, voice quiet and shocked.

Coulson wordlessly flipped to a new page.

At the top was a crude depiction of the Iron Man armour, as though drawn from a description given by someone who saw it from far away. Underneath, in the text, there was very little information:

**Allegiance:** Unknown

**Abilities:** Force blasts from hands; supernatural defence.

**Weaknesses:** Unknown

**Instructions:** Avoid; recruit if possible; kill if confronted.

“I think we’re both aware that you have far more abilities than just this,” Coulson said, tapping the Abilities line. “I suspect they don’t know anything else about you, which makes you a very good ally to have.”

Iron Man stared at the packet, unreadable and silent, until Coulson wordlessly folded it closed and put it in his iron gauntlet.

“What if I’m working for them?”

“Then I suspect the picture would have been better. A man in a gold and red suit doesn’t strike me as someone who isn’t interested in appearances. Besides - this contains no more information than they already have. The only person I’m putting at risk here is myself.”

Coulson paused, as though unsure whether he should continue. “I think-,” he added, “I think you are a party that can be trusted. Not just because this pamphlet seems to categorise you as a wildcard, but because I have a feeling you are looking for a way to redeem yourself, if your past actions say anything about you. I am under the impression that you may not have intentionally sought out your power.”

Iron Man gave the tiniest of nods, hesitantly, and Coulson’s smile faded. He hung his head, as though mourning; for the lives lost or Iron Man himself, he wasn’t sure.

“… What do you want me to do?”

“Find whatever it is the Winter Soldier is searching for,” Coulson told him, voice low and serious. “Protect it, even if it means protecting it from our own forces. And prevent any more people from being killed.”

In the silence that followed, Coulson offered him a last gentle smile and an offered hand. Shocked, Iron Man shook it. Appeased, Coulson turned and climbed up the bank. “You were right,” he called, bending to pick up his carefully folded socks. “This stream is a nice relief from the heat.”

The comment was partially swallowed up by the noise of the water, and it struck Iron Man that their conversation would have been very difficult to overhear; that the position they’d been standing in would have made it very difficult to read Coulson’s lips. With a faint smile to himself, and the thought of a very frustrated pair of spies, the armour gave up and turned for home.

He was going to need all the energy he had to lose the spies, anyway. No point wasting it on a cold trail.

* * *

His chest hurt.

Tony absently rubbed his knuckles over it, frowning, as he slipped through the door and out into the corridor. He could never decide if he was glad that his old home was annexed to the castle walls proper - it meant he could get to the workshop and labs without having to technically go outside at any point - or if he hated it. For one thing, the guard presence was stifling.

He turned a corner and pattered down the stairs, bare feet quiet on the smooth stone, hiding in the recess of a doorway as a guard passed the end of the corridor ahead. He tested the door handle, and sighed, before pulling out a lock-pick from his sleeve.

He had lost his key years ago, but just never really got around to having it replaced.

The lock clicked, and he tucked away the tools with practiced care, carefully pushing the door open as quietly as he could manage before slipping inside, gently closing it behind him. He knew where Bruce kept the antidote, knew that he always had it made in advance, just in case, and he hurried across to pull the door open, when someone cleared their throat.

He froze. On the top of one of the cabinets, Clint was watching him, an arrow spinning in his hand.

“What the fuck,” Tony said, straightening up. His arms fell limp to his sides. “What the actual fuck.”

Clint smiled, shrugged. “Steve said to make sure you were under watch.”

“And that’s why you’re here? Instead of, I dunno, outside my room?”

“That was my job, actually.”

Tony jumped in surprise, turning to find Natasha leaning casually against the wall. She gave him a little wave and a friendly smile. He knew her well enough to know that that was a very bad sign.

“I figured if you left, this is where you’d end up, and I’m a lazy asshole. This, by the way, this-” he gestured at Natasha, who raised a solitary eyebrow at Tony. “This is why Steve wanted you watched. You’re completely oblivious. A kidnapper’s dream.”

Tony scowled at him, trying to figure out what to do. He glanced at the cabinet he needed, his chest throbbing painfully - but he didn’t want to explain his midnight visit to the spies, and certainly didn’t want them knowing what he needed, or why. He glanced around at Natasha, a wan smile on his face. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to let me get to work, then? You can, uh, stand outside, like Carol said-”

“It’d be more fun to take you to Steve, actually.”

“Oh, for- come on. I’m a grown adult, and I’ve got a serious project that I need to get done as soon as possible, and-”

Natasha’s slender hand squeezed his shoulder and he froze, hyper aware of how lethal she was, how easily she could bring him down to the ground. Clint hopped down, effortlessly falling from the height of the cabinets with unconscious grace, and before Tony could move toward the cabinet he was being tugged back toward the door.

He sighed. This was going to suck.

When Steve opened the door, it was with tired resignation in his eyes, like he’d been expecting this, and Tony would have been more outraged if he didn’t know the man was right to do so. He simply stood there, clad in a pair of soft pants, half asleep, glaring at the scientist like he’d just kicked a thousand puppies.

Tony crossed his arms and balanced on his toes a little, hoping it made him seem more imposing. Steve didn’t blink.

One of these days that was going to work, goddamnit.

“Do you have some kind of death wish?” Steve asked, voice rough with sleep and tinged with mild annoyance.

“No, really, I just-”

“So you’re just trying to test me?”

“I- there’s a misunderstanding, okay, I just needed to get something I forgot in the workshop-”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, and Tony wilted a little. There was no excuse he could give that wouldn’t lead to far more questions. “Look, I get it, Bad Tony, go to your room, don’t do it again. Can I go now?”

Steve regarded him for several seconds, eyes narrowed. “No.”

“What, are you just gonna make me sleep here?”

Steve seemed to consider it for a moment, studying his face, before moved back into his chambers, gesturing at a chaise lounge in the corner of the surprisingly sparse room. “I’m sure we can find you a spare pillow,” the King quipped, his voice dry and unimpressed.

“I- why, Steve, if you wanted me in your chambers you could have just asked.”

It was a reflex, to immediately make a suggestive joke, but Steve wasn’t laughing; he just continued the sleepy glare as he moved aside, waiting for Tony to cross the threshold. Tony thought for a moment that his ears were pink, but before he could be sure Clint nudged him forward. He begrudgingly slumped through, tossing a glare over his shoulder at Clint’s snicker.

Steve shut the door, not looking Tony in the eye. He fetched a pillow from the bed and pushed it into Tony’s arms before guiding the scientist over to the lounge and forcing him to sit.

Tony opened his mouth to say something, perhaps tease him for what he strongly suspected was a blush spreading across his cheeks, but something about Steve’s expression made him stop.

Steve was the type of person who usually showed what he was thinking, but even he had masks he maintained. Tony had long since determined that the king had hidden secrets of his own, that there were emotions and thoughts hidden behind that ‘Aw, shucks’ smile that betrayed a character of far more depth.

Now, he looked tired, but something about him seemed desperate, like he was hanging on the edge of a cliff with his fingernails and any small nudge might send him falling into the abyss.

The last time he’d seen that look was in the days and weeks after Bucky fell.

Tony bit his tongue and said nothing, quietly taking the pillow and trying to arrange himself comfortably on the lounge. Steve stalked back to his bed and slumped into it, pulled the covers over him, and turned to face the other way.

Silently, Tony raked his knuckles over his aching chest, glaring at the door.

On the bright side, at least one night shouldn’t hurt.

Much.

Steve typically woke with the dawn. It was an old habit - something he picked up as a kid, when various servants would promise to let him join them on their errands - so when he woke up to find the very earliest shy beams of light through the window, he didn’t initially think anything was different.

A snore from the corner made him wake up a little faster, though.

He slithered out of bed, tiredly ruffling his hair, and looked at the lounge stretched out below the bay windows.

Something about the first rays of a spring morning made everything seem slightly more magical than they should be, and Tony was no exception. The light hit smooth tanned skin, gently closed eyelids, a slightly open mouth. Steve padded closer, heart in his throat, until he crouched, reverent, close enough to touch. He ached to reach out and run his hand through the engineer’s hair.

He’d never seen the man so at peace before.

Gently - so gently - he traced his thumb over the engineer’s cheekbone. The engineer frowned, slightly, turned toward it, sighed. His lips and breath ghosted across Steve’s palm, sending tingles up his arm, and a blush across his cheeks.

Steve didn’t notice that Tony was a little too warm. He didn’t realise that he was very pale, his skin tinted gold by the morning sun rather than his usual healthy tanned glow. But one thing did make him pause; on the side of Tony’s neck - just above his right collarbone - there was a mark where the neckline of his shirt met his chest. It was only barely visible, and even then only because Tony must have rolled in his sleep, pulling the shirt away.

It was a small line, as though from a smudged pen, which almost seemed to be buried under his skin.

Steve knew he shouldn’t do it, but somehow he couldn’t stop himself from gently tracing the mark with his thumb, moving back the nightshirt to expose the skin just below the engineer’s collarbone. He found a small spiderweb of inky black lines, following Tony’s veins, getting darker the lower they were, spreading over his skin like a series of cracks in glass or ice.

Swallowing back a faint twinge of nausea, Steve gently hid the marks from view, smoothing the fabric back over Tony’s chest. Somehow the light had changed, in those few moments. Tony didn’t look angelic anymore. He just looked sleep deprived, and slightly starved.

Steve grimaced a little, hating himself for this violation of privacy, and tore himself away.

When Tony woke up, it was to an empty room.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Steve. 
> 
> Who doesn't love a good misunderstanding or ten?
> 
> p.s: This is literally the longest fic (Or anything really) that I've ever written. 
> 
> (Thanks to my amazing betas Dragonlover44 and HadesPuppy for being so helpful and patient!)


	4. Chapter 3

The soft knock on the workshop door made Bruce pause.

“Peter, I know you’re keen, but I really don’t have any work for you today.” He lifted the solution to the light and studied it, frowning. “I don’t think Tony’s got anything either - I mean, you’re welcome to go ask him, but I have no idea where the idiot is.”

“It’s you I was hoping to talk to, actually.”

Bruce turned, startled, and blinked at Steve in the doorway.

On a normal day, Steve would have been faintly irritated by the look of surprise on the scientist’s face. He was tired of being seen as particularly special, tired of people waiting on him hand and foot, when he felt it was his kingly duty to protect and serve them. He tried to involve himself in the everyday life of his people as regularly as he could, and part of that had, of course, been visiting the workshop.

On a regular basis.

… Maybe more than he would visit, say, the kitchen, or the gardens, and perhaps only when a certain engineer was present. He tried to pass it off in his own head as taking a vested interest in the technological future of his country, but knew deep down that the real reason was far more selfish.

Bruce must have caught the surprise. “I just… didn’t expect to see you. Not right now, anyway,” he said. He squinted at Steve for a moment, as though there was some kind of puzzle in his face that he didn’t entirely understand. “Everything okay?”

“That’s what I came to ask you.”

At Bruce’s puzzled look, Steve stole a stool from the student’s table on the opposite side of the room. Bruce didn’t turn to face him until he’d put the stool down on the opposite side of the workbench and perched on top of it, leaning in to get a read on the scientist’s expression. He was met with calm bemusement as Bruce finished pouring the mixture into a bottle. With idle interest, he watched it turn into a green mixture similar to the one he’d seen Tony drink.

“If you’re expecting my monthly report a couple days early,” Bruce said, “I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you.”

“I never understand those reports anyway.”

Bruce watched him, carefully, and Steve had the sudden thought that he was being assessed as objectively as any of Bruce’s experiments. He glanced at down at his hands, suddenly unsure exactly how to begin.

“I wanted to talk to you about Tony.”

“… A lot of people seem to want that, lately.”

Steve frowned. “Really?”

Bruce cleared away his notes, put his experiment to the side, and glanced up at Steve. His expression was guarded, behind the faint friendly smile Steve had gotten to know as the mask Bruce wore around anybody he wasn’t totally comfortable with. “Really,” he replied. “Every time he gets himself hurt, somehow I’m the one people turn to.”

“I - well, I noticed that you and he are… are close,” Steve began. “Very close.”

Bruce nodded, slowly, head tilted slightly to the side, and his silence was infuriating in the face of Steve’s sudden awkwardness.

He’d planned to ask properly, to find out once and for all if the two were an item, but in the moment he couldn’t quite make his mouth form the words he needed. Bruce was still watching him, smiling slightly, and did that mean he knew what Steve was thinking? Was it the beginning of a smirk he’d picked up from the engineer?

“I’m worried.” He settled on, glancing away. The lab was cold, the forge quiet and all of Tony’s notes tucked neatly away. “He seems a little unwell lately. I was wondering if you knew what it was, or if there was anything that can be done. To, uh, make him healthier.”

Finally, Bruce looked away, as though gathering his thoughts. He collected some of the books he had strewn across the desk, his brow furrowed. He’d seemed cool and collected before, but now he seemed slightly ruffled. “I’m not a medical doctor, sire,” he said. “I think you want to talk to your healers.”

“I would, but you patched him up the other day. You seem to know what you’re doing, even if it’s not your particular area of expertise.”

Bruce’s face was unreadable. “Maybe.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

Bruce huffed and moved toward the shelf, where he carefully arranged the books back into their order. “Ever heard of patient confidentiality?”

Steve clenched his fists under the table. “Please, Bruce. I’m worried about him. I know you and he are- I mean, I understand, and I don’t want to, uh, move in on whatever you two have, but I still really need to know that he’s okay, even if I can’t…”

\- Have him, his mind finished for him.

Bruce was looking at him oddly. “And… what do Tony and I have, exactly?”

“Um.” Steve tapped his fingers on the edge of the workbench, looking away. “I saw you stroke his thigh, the other day, and by the way you were looking at each other…”

He trailed off, too embarrassed to continue.

Bruce stared at him. “You think we’re together.”

“It’s not like I have a problem with it-”

“Tony. And me.”

“- Really, it’s fine, and it’s only natural considering you both work together all the time-”

Bruce’s chuckle broke him off mid-sentence.

Bruce shook his head. “We’re not together,” he said with a wry smile. “Friends - even brothers - certainly. But that could never happen, and I don’t believe either of us want it to.”

“But I thought…”

Steve trailed off, finding that he suddenly didn’t know what to say. He was distracted by the overwhelming relief he was feeling - and the blush spreading over his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Bruce was watching him carefully, the corner of his mouth tipped up in a sly grin. Steve grimaced.

“… Don’t tell him I thought that.”

Bruce didn’t promise anything, he just smiled and turned back to his work, shooing Steve out of the workshop entirely.

It wasn’t until later that evening, after dinner, that Steve realised Bruce had never answered his question.

* * *

Somehow, Steve wasn’t surprised when Clint knocked on his door late that night. “A midnight delivery for you, your majesty,” he heard, muffled through the ornate wood. He clambered out of bed, book held with a finger marking his page, and opened the door.

“My liege.”

Steve hid a smile. He hadn’t had anybody say that to him with such vitriol behind it in a while. Tony was glowering with barely suppressed rage. Clint, meanwhile, was ecstatic.

“A midnight work run again?”

“It’s not even midnight,” Tony griped.

[“He tried to hide in a broom closet.”] Clint signed over Tony’s left shoulder.

Tony caught Steve’s line of sight and whirled around, eyes narrowed. His signing was emphatic in response. [“You know, Clint, I’m really starting to think I hate you.”]

Clint’s grin was brighter than the sun. [“No you don’t.”]

[“You’re out of my will.”]

[“You don’t have anything left to give away anyway.”]

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m a noble,” he said, slipping out of sign language, ice lacing every syllable. “Why does everyone forget that?”

“You’re too cute to be a noble. Like an angry kitten. Look at him, Steve. Agree with me.”

“An angry kitten,” Steve agreed. “Apt.”

“I hate you all. I’m going home.”

Steve snorted. “Sure you are. And how long will it be before you sneak back to the lab again?”

“There’s something I need to do that’s super important!”

“Oh, yeah? Why can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

Tony’s jaw clicked shut. “It’s a secret,” he said, voice strained.

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Do I need to throw you in the dungeon?”

The indignant squawk he got in response was delicious.

“You’re the only person in this damn castle who can’t seem to grasp the idea that people need to know where you are and be nearby just in case you accidentally become a murder victim. You were literally attacked two days ago. I don’t see why you seem to think escaping your guard is a good idea, so your options right now are bunking with someone who will keep you in check, or ending up handcuffed to someone of my choosing.” He paused. “Probably Natasha.”

“Bruce! I elect Bruce. Let’s just go straight to-”

Clint stopped him with an arm around his neck and a smirk. “He’s not in tonight,” he said. “He and Nat have prior engagements.”

Tony stared. “Bruce. And Nat.”

“Prior engagements.”

Inwardly, Steve felt another wave of relief, let himself enjoy a smug moment of excitement at the reminder that Tony wasn’t involved with the other scientist. Outwardly, he made sure his sarcastic smirk was firmly in place. “My lounge is free again.”

Tony turned and glowered at him. “I’m not sleeping on your lounge. In fact-” he marched across the room to Steve’s bed and fell back onto it, a picture of melodrama and decadent bedding. “If you’re forcing me to sleep here, I insist that I get to be comfortable. The lounge is all yours.”

“I see.”

Steve took his time walking back toward the bed, letting himself thoroughly enjoy the vision before him - of Tony, arms thrown wide and clothing ruffled from recent manhandling, sprawled across the length of his bed. His eyes were closed, and Steve imagined kissing his eyelids, nibbling on his collarbones, peeling away the soft, comfortable clothing he was wearing that lay just right-

Then he shoved Tony unceremoniously aside and climbed in under the covers. Tony yelled, falling down on the other side of the bed with a heavy thump and an emphatic curse. He stayed there for a moment, before sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “That was rude.”

Steve chuckled softly as he curled up between the covers, his back turned to Tony. “Just get in, Tony.”

Steve worried, for the few seconds that it took Tony to respond, that he’d gone too far, somehow. Steve might be okay with sharing his bed - ecstatic, even - but that didn’t mean Tony was going to be okay with it in the slightest. But he felt the sheets being peeled back, the small depression of the mattress as a body smaller than his slipped between them.

Tony mumbled something.

“Hm?”

“I said it’s not fair that your sheets and mattress are so much better than mine.”

Steve hummed a little. “Would that make you stay in bed, not wander around the place at night?”

“If I could sleep in these sheets, yeah, maybe.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to sleep here from now on.”

The stunned silence was nerve wracking - the warm chuckle that followed chased the nerves away. “If you insist,” Tony said, wriggling to get comfortable and letting out a long, exaggerated sigh of contentment when he’d finally shoved his cold toes under the warmth of Steve’s calves.

Steve’s nerves were tingling, long after Tony settled into sleep.

* * *

His target had company.

The Asset was perched on a rooftop, hidden in the shadow of a gargoyle, unseen through the rain and moonless night. He could see his target in the bedroom, saw as he and another man settled into bed together.

He’d planned to make his hit tonight. He was starting to reconsider.

He knew that overpowering his mark would be difficult. The man was strong, and fast, and had secret skills, secret enhancements, that the world wasn’t aware of. His companion was the same - though his skills lay in other areas. Taking on one would be difficult to do silently - taking on two would be hopeless, especially if they managed to call the guards before he subdued them.

Not that the guards posed any particular issue. Most of them were easily disposed of.

His target’s lover, however, was too powerful.

The assassin’s eyes narrowed, and he stole away across the roof, a mere shadow moving silently through the rain.

He’d find his opportunity soon. He just had to catch his mark alone.

* * *

When Steve woke up, it was with a sense of warmth, and comfort, and safety, that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He breathed deeply, realising he was holding a warm body in his arms. He pulled the body closer, buried his nose in their hair, and smiled slightly as he recognised the unique blend of gunpowder, metal, and flame.

This was far more than he had ever planned. But the brunette was sleeping soundly, head cushioned on his shoulder, eyelashes gently pillowed against his cheeks, lips slightly apart, worry lines faded in comfort and peace that Steve hadn’t seen on that face in quite some time.

If he stayed for a few minutes, nobody would know. He allowed himself some time to breathe Tony in, to memorise the exact way their legs were tangled together, even as he prepared himself to finally draw away. He found himself wishing that he could have this, that this could be something more than two friends sharing a bed for their own safety, more than a happy accident in sleep that Tony had rolled into his sleeping, waiting arms.

But that couldn’t happen.

Steve wasn’t stupid. He knew being romantically associated with the king would paint a gigantic target on the engineer’s back - but he suspected any assassin worth their salt would have noticed the long, lingering glances Steve sent the engineer’s way already, so there was no point to pretending it didn’t exist. He had heard the gossip, both among their immediate circle of friends and among the serving staff. He knew, deep down, that Tony being targeted could have been intended as an attack on the king.

Steve could convince himself that surrounding the engineer with his own security team - that being in Tony’s company as often as possible - was purely for protection purposes. But while Tony was here, warm and soft and utterly relaxed in his bed, Steve could pretend he could have him. He traced a hand through the engineer’s curls, enjoying the weight of his head and arm across his chest. He frowned when he once again noticed a black line on the engineer’s collarbone that he traced very, very lightly with a thumb. It was darker than it had been before.

He felt worry stir again.

Finally he shifted, sighed, and started to slowly unravel himself from their embrace. He shuffled slightly under Tony until finally the engineer rolled over with a deep sigh. He dressed, quickly, and paused to once more drink in the sight of Tony, ruffled, tangled in his sheets, before he finally brought himself to leave.

The moment the door clicked softly shut, Tony dropped the facade of sleep.

This wasn’t good.

This really wasn’t good.

* * *

The pamphlet was slightly thicker, weightier, than Tony had thought it was back in the stream. He’d tucked it away in a notebook filled with loose pages and haphazardly compiled bundles of notes, and hadn’t touched it since.

Finally, he felt worried enough to take it out again.

He wasn’t totally sure what he was looking for, besides a basic overview of what the enemy knew, or what they considered to be worthy targets. He idly opened it to the first page, totally unsurprised to find an uncanny resemblance of Steve staring up at him.

**King Steven Rogers**

**Abilities:** Supernatural regeneration, strength, speed, and healing.

**Weaknesses:** Cold; not invulnerable.

**Instructions:** Kill on sight.

Cold. Tony squinted at the neat handwriting. That was different.  He frowned at the simple picture showing Steve’s likeness, unsure what exactly that was meant to mean. He knew the man wasn’t remotely fond of snow, but there had to be some kind of story there.

He flipped ahead, past mentions of Fury and various international leaders, stopping when inaccurate illustrations of both Clint and Natasha stared up at him out of the page.

**Natasha Romanoff**

**Abilities:** Confidence trickery, supernatural agility.

**Weaknesses:** Vulnerable to brute force.

**Instructions:** Kill on sight.

 

**Clint Barton**

**Abilities:** Supernatural marksmanship.

**Weaknesses** : Completely deaf in both ears.

**Instructions:** Kill on sight.

Tony smiled, faintly, tapping his pencil on the edge of his pile of notes.

The thing was, the hearing aids he’d given Clint weren’t perfect - by no means did Clint have normal hearing - but it was useful, knowing that people didn’t realise he could actually understand regular speech reasonably well. Tony was immensely proud of his invention, and had spent a great deal of time trying to recreate them using non-magic means so he could distribute them to the general population.

He hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

Perhaps that was for the best, though; any attackers that assumed Clint was entirely deaf were in for a fantastic surprise, and the thought gave Tony visceral joy. He idly wrote a tiny note to himself on one of his other project sheets scattered around the table - ‘Make the aids less visible’ - before he flipped a few pages more and discovered that the data on Sam Wilson had incorrectly claimed that the falconer was unable to see or hear around himself when linked telepathically with Redwing.

He chuckled to himself. An ambush on Sam would be fun to watch too.

A thought struck him, suddenly, and he turned the pages quickly, trying to find his own name, and nearly crowed in delight when he found it.

**Anthony Stark**

**Abilities:** None, though gifted in engineering.

**Instructions:**   Ignore; abduct or dispose of.

And the smug grin vanished immediately.

The assholes hadn’t even considered him worthy of listing his weaknesses. The least they could do was assume his engineering was supernatural; the fact that they considered it merely ‘a gift’ left his ego bruised. He was about to throw the pamphlet away in annoyed disgust when the name underneath his own entry caught his eye.

**Bruce Banner**

**Abilities:** Transforms into a green monster with super strength that has supernatural invulnerability and healing.

**Weaknesses:** ‘Hulk’ alter-ego is stupid and easily fooled, but is almost invulnerable.

**Instructions:** Avoid; kill if possible.

Tony stared at the page, for once totally still, unsure exactly what to think.

Clearly the enemy was misinformed about many of their targets in Marvel, if the other entries were anything to go by, so it was quite possible that they were sorely mistaken about the placid scientist. On the other hand, Tony knew that Bruce had secrets from before he’d come to work at the castle; Tony suspected it was the entire reason the man was willing to help him keep his.  Bruce had never offered, and Tony had never asked, content to let the scientist’s past remain cloudy and unknown, but this was definitely not the form he thought they would take.

To have accidentally stumbled across what those secrets may be left Tony with a rush of irrational shame. He shut the pamphlet and shoved it back into the pile of notes he’d hidden it in before, his mood soured.

He stared at his hands, scarred from years of weapon production and work with hot iron, wondering what he was meant to do now.

He’d taken to patrolling the streets at night when he could, in the hopes of stumbling across the Winter Soldier, but the meddling of two super spies had put an end to that. Coulson had suggested that he find protect whatever it was that the Winter Soldier was looking for, but he already knew where it was.

The people who’d died - they could have been a warning, possibly, or a scare tactic meant to make him compliant, but Tony suspected that the Winter Soldier assumed they knew where it had been hidden. After all, each one had been intimately chosen by him as proteges of a kind; the two students that spent a great deal of time in his lab, the maid and the guard who had both been hired thanks to his meddling after they’d both selflessly aided Iron Man despite the risk to their own reputation. They all kept secrets for him, so he could see why an outsider would assume they would know where the thing was hidden as well.

Luckily, the only other person who knew where it was was apparently scary enough for the bad guys to avoid him, if not totally capable of looking after himself.

Since the attack on Tony, however, everything had been totally quiet, and he felt a stirring of unease in his chest. He hadn’t checked on the thing recently, or at least not since the attack.

Tony eyed the forge on the other end of the room.

Once upon a time he’d worked at the forge day in and day out, producing weapons finer and more effective than any other engineer or smithy in the country. Nowadays it usually sat, cold and dark, like a small gaping monster in the corner. He used it now and then, primarily to make shields and armour and (occasionally) a specialised weapon for a specific person he trusted not to use it for ill, but most of the time it was ignored both by himself and the people who came to visit the workshop. 

Which was convenient, really.

He was careful; he made a show of packing up for the night, of closing his curtains and wobbling slightly on his feet, trying to imitate his usual lack of grace when he was actually tired. He pulled together a pack of notes that he stashed in his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and finally reached into the back of the forge itself, prying loose a single brick from the back.

He had a moment long enough to sigh in relief that what he was looking for was still there, but then the closet opened, and everything went straight to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate exposition, but until I get around to actually writing the backstories and other worldbuilding stuff I have planned, that bit at the end will just have to do. Luckily, there’s a reason this fic is the first in a series. 
> 
> (Thanks to my amazing betas Dragonlover44 and HadesPuppy for being so helpful and patient!)


	5. Chapter 4

“They have an army.” Hill announced, finishing her explanation with a tired wave at the map on the table. “It’s just exceptionally small, and we don’t know why.”

The map dominated the room. It showed the most detailed map of Hydra’s capital that their resident Marvel spies could reproduce. Around the edges, newly and apparently hastily added, was a tent city drawn in red ink. It almost eclipsed the city itself. Hydra was clearly prepared for a giant army, far beyond what Marvel had at its disposal.

Steve regarded it with unease.

“From what Peggy has told us, this camp is prepared for thousands of troops, but they only have a couple hundred people actually inhabiting them, and so far as she could tell their numbers grow by only a dozen or so each day. They’re stockpiling a hell of a lot of food for a very small number of troops.

“They have reinforcement coming from elsewhere?”

“That’s what we’re worried about. So far as our intelligence can see, there aren’t any other forces building outside of their capital. The rest of the army has to be somewhere - they’re not stupid enough to waste all these resources - but somehow an army of thousands is completely off our radar.”

“You think there’s something wrong with our intelligence?”

“I think it’s highly possible.”

Steve hummed, troubled. Across the table, Coulson’s expression matched his own.

“There’s more,” Hill added. Over the map she spread a page with a rough sketch drawn on it. It featured an odd humanoid creature, with grey skin and a gaping, snarling maw. “Our operatives tell us that many of the troops look like this.”

“Wow, they’re even uglier than Clint.”

The archer flipped Sam off without looking, as across the room Natasha suppressed a smirk with practiced ease.

“Do we know what they are?”

Hill shook her head, eyeing the picture in front of her. “The best guess we have is that it’s some kind of demon, or a magical creature we haven’t come across before now.”

“It looks familiar,” Thor’s voice rumbled, and Steve jumped slightly. The prince was usually an imposing figure, but somehow Steve had almost forgotten that he was squished into a chair in the corner. “Alas, if I could ask my mother she would be more knowledgeable. Or my brother.”

Coulson tilted his head. “Is it Asgardian? Could Asgard be their actual target?”

Thor shook his head. “It matches no friend or foe of mine - though I confess I don’t know much about Asgard’s state of affairs since my exile.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Have we consulted Strange?”

“Absolutely not.”

Several of the people around the table blinked in surprise at Steve’s immediate response. He leaned back against the back of his chair, suddenly very conscious of their gazes, but unwilling to back down.

“He knows more about magic than any of us,” Coulson said, slowly.

“He has too much of it.” Steve said, tiredly, as though that fact spoke for itself. “I trust him even less than I trust Iron Man.”

“Dude claims it’s inherited,” Clint added with a careless shrug. “Maybe he’s telling the truth.”

Steve shook his head. “Not possible. Magic transfer is impossible - I tried.”

The silence around the table was profound, for a moment, before they heard a faint crash and yelling down the hall. They could hear the guards outside calling out for order, and then a series of crashes like giant feet that shook the ground Steve realised he recognised the voice, muffled though it was by the door, even though it was oddly distorted.

He frowned and rose to his feet, moments before the alarm rang out in the bell tower above them.

Clint was at the window immediately, looking for any sign of disturbance in the courtyard below, apparently seeing some kind of commotion below. Sam’s eyes glowed as he called Redwing to action. Weapons were drawn from invisible sheaths with impressive coordination around the table. Outside the yelling increased, until the doors crashed inward, one swinging off its hinges and landing heavily against the wall.

In their wake stood Bruce, panting, skin tinged oddly green.

“The workshop,” he gasped. “Tony. He’s gone.”

* * *

“I just want it to be known that the only reason I’m not blasting you to DEATH right now is because you happen to be using the body of a friend of mine. Which, by the way, is very rude.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t respond, besides roughly adjusting the way Tony was slung over his shoulder.

It was partly true. He’d never really known Bucky personally - he looked back on his life before the incident and realised he very rarely got to know anybody personally - but he knew Bucky had always been Steve’s best friend. The idea of hurting him, when there was even the smallest chance that Tony could help him break free, was agonising.

Mostly, however, he was _ exhausted _ .

Every day that passed took slightly more of his energy; the magic became just a little more difficult to control, the poison filled his veins, unhindered by the antidote that usually kept it in check. The past few days had come with very little sleep, and the attack had drained him, and the antidote wasn’t working the way it used to - when he managed to drink it at all - and now he’d been well and truly fucked up in a fight he wasn’t remotely prepared for...

… Tony was scared, even terrified, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit that, not to the Winter Soldier, not even to Bruce, so damn it all - he was going to go down fighting.

Or, at least, posturing.

The Winter Soldier just adjusted him again, and suddenly his shoulder was digging painfully into Tony’s stomach, and talking seemed too hard.

Time passed.

Tony drifted in and out, distantly aware that he’d hit his head pretty hard and that he’d lost a decent amount of blood during the fight. The scenery changed between blinks, and it was a surprise when the Soldier finally set him down on a patch of dirt and dug some supplies out of a hollow at the roots of a tree.

He watched the assassin set a fire and open some rations, which he immediately began to eat with a brutal efficiency even Tony could be impressed with.

He realised, suddenly, that the last thing he’d eaten was the antidote Bruce had given him for lunch the previous day. His stomach gurgled, but the Winter Soldier steadfastly ignored him. He tried to scoot forward a little but stopped when his kidnapper’s eyes snapped to his with a vicious glare.

He wilted slightly, offered a weak attempt at a friendly smile. “Anything for me in there?”

The Soldier didn’t respond, besides going back to his food.

“…Can I call you Soldier?”

At this, the man looked up at him again, a hint of faint annoyance the only expression on his otherwise blank face.

“No? Okay, not Soldier. What about Winter? I feel like Winter is a good one. You know what, I dunno how you feel about it, but I’m making an executive decision here. I’m gonna call you Winter, because I feel like calling you Bucky would be weird for both of us.”

The Winter Soldier paused mid-chew. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

“Aaaaaand there it is. Hey, Winter, where are we headed?”

The assassin went back to his food, apparently intent on ignoring him again, so Tony tried to tease away at the ropes a little. When that didn’t work he tried some magic, only to find himself immediately pinned to a nearby tree by a hand around his throat.

Tony knew he should feel threatened, really, he honestly really did, but that arm was a technological marvel when combined with the magic Winter had at his disposal. He twisted, trying to get a better look at it, but Winter snarled and pressed harder.

Tony could barely choke out an apology before he completely stopped being able to breathe, and the hand around his neck disappeared. He landed, gasping for air, in the dirt.

“No magic,” the Winter Soldier said, his voice oddly calm and disinterested for someone who had just moments before been perfectly willing to strangle someone. “If you try to run, I will kill you.”

“Yep. Gotcha. 100% clear on that. So now that we’ve come to an understanding, where exactly are you taking me?”

The Soldier turned to dig through his pack, and Tony leaned against the tree, hoping the dizzy spell would end soon.

It didn’t. But that wasn’t exactly a surprise.

* * *

The guards that had been meant to guard the workshop door were later found, dead, hidden in a mostly empty cupboard in the corner. 

Part of Steve recognised that Tony would probably make some kind of victory out of that. The one time he actually obeyed Steve’s instructions, Tony managed to get kidnapped.

The rest of him was incoherently worried.

Tony had apparently put up a good fight. The equipment that usually dominated the workshop benches had been disturbed, in places swept entirely to the ground. Sheafs of paper, dozens of small notes covered in Tony’s chicken scratch handwriting, had been scattered, left to fall wherever they pleased. There were broken pieces of glass, shattered bits of metal, scorch marks on the walls.

And there was blood - a not insignificant amount - against the side of a workshop bench, where whoever was bleeding had fallen against it, and slid down to land on the floor.

Tony was nowhere to be seen.

The guards were storming the city already, Coulson’s people were combing the scene, and Hawkeye and Sam and Natasha were already searching for tracks. He knew everyone was doing everything they could, but he was going mad. The panic in his chest was consuming him, and he couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t stand just stand here.

He was vaguely aware of Bruce in the corner, of the way Coulson was standing in front of him, protecting him from the chaos of the workshop. The scientist was shaking, face set in an odd expression caught somewhere between anger and dismay, and Steve should have felt some kind of compassion for him, but instead he just hated that Bruce hadn’t somehow prevented this.

As though that were possible. The man exuded peace and calm. So as far as Steve knew, he was totally incapable of defending himself, let alone another person.

He watched another group of guards dart across the courtyard below, and decided he’d had enough. He marched out of the room, aware that people were warily watching him go but finding himself disinclined to care.

* * *

Coulson’s face was grim, but his eyes were attentive and serious, and something made Bruce trust him. The noise of the investigation, the people inspecting the room around them, had fallen away into complete silence.

“They took it,” Bruce told him, struggling to hold back the bite in his voice. “They took it, and they took him, and if we don’t find them we are fucked.”

If Coulson was surprised or alarmed by the sudden vitriol in the quiet scientist’s voice, he didn’t show it. He just knelt down, so he could meet Bruce’s oddly green-tinged eyes, and put a steadying hand on Bruce’s calf, as though bracing him, holding him up on the stool he was sitting on. “What exactly did they take?” he asked, his voice low and quiet, only audible because he was so close.

“It was- it was something Tony brought, a long time ago. Five years ago. He was terrified that someone would use it against Marvel, so he hid it here.”

“Where?”

“In the back of the forge.”

Coulson was careful not to glance back at the forge, but his grip tightened on Bruce’s leg and his eyes narrowed slightly. He’d seen the loose missing stone, and had been afraid of this. “Was it a weapon?”

“He never- he never went into detail,” the scientist said, but his eyes were guarded, and Coulson knew it was a lie. One that he would get to later, though. “He said it’s a power source. It can be used to- it’s possible that some kind of weapon could be powered by it. A weapon more powerful than anything we’ve ever seen.”

“What did it look like?”

Bruce told him.

“And what kind of weapon do you think they’re going to make?”

“I think…” Bruce hesitated, his eyes going a little green for a moment before returning back to their regular warm brown. “I don’t know, exactly. Whatever it is, I think they want him to build it. To design it.”

“Good.” Coulson said, his eyes turning a little kind for a moment. “Because that means they’ll want to keep him alive.”

Across the room Steve was staring out the window, into the courtyard, until he seemingly came to a decision and stormed out of the room. His shoulders were tight and his face twisted in something between both fury and worry.

Bruce watched him go, unsure exactly how he was going to tell all of this to the king.

As though sensing what he was thinking, Coulson looked up at him again. “Who have you told?”

Bruce stared at him for a moment. “Nobody.”

“Okay.” Coulson let out a deep breath. “Don’t tell anybody else.”

“What? We need to prepare-”

“Yes, we do,” Coulson said, as he stood. He braced a hand on each of Bruce’s shoulders, and gave him the tiniest of shakes. “I need you to think of everything you know about it. There’s someone here feeding the enemy information - we need to be careful. I’ll call a meeting.”

Bruce nodded, unsure. Coulson slipped back into his genial smile. “And doctor - don’t write any of it down.”

* * *

For most people, magic manifested itself in very specific ways. For Clint, it had been marksmanship and unusually good eyesight. For Natasha, it was the ability to twist people to her will.

Tony, however, was an engineer. His specialty was building things, tweaking them, making them stronger, and an integral part of that was understanding where the weak points were. It was a skill that he found translated across to magic with ease. Sure, he was capable of the simple blasts of force he tended to fall back on, but his real skill was in building the armour, modifying the flow of magic around him on the fly, and making sure all his own weak spots were covered at all times. He could sense other peoples’ magic, and he could judge what supported it, and he could manipulate it, even if only a little, by poking at the weak bits until they bent to his will.

He eyed the back of the Winter Soldier’s head as they walked, trying to judge whether the man could sense his gentle probing. He’d been going about it for hours, gently tugging away at the smallest pieces of the spell wrapped around his mind. So far his kidnapper hadn’t reacted, so either he hadn’t noticed or simply didn’t care.

He could sense a lot of magic in Bucky himself, and Tony bit his cheek a little, wincing at the thought. The old Bucky had had magic before, of course - he and Steve had both served in the military - but nowhere near this level. He wondered if it was enough to make him sick. Clearly it wasn’t on the same scale as Tony’s own, but with the amount of magic running through his veins he should surely be feeling the worst of it by now.

But while that magic was wild, always pulsating in the dark thrumming energy of Bucky, the web woven around it by someone else was stronger.

Tony plucked at it, idly, as they walked, trying to ignore the headache that was starting to settle in behind his eyes. He was weak, and tired, and the wound on his side was stinging and throbbing in a way he really didn’t like, but taking apart the spell in front of him seemed like the only thing he could do to get either of them out of this mess.

He plucked again, undoing another few strands, and the Winter Soldier moved as though to brush a fly out of his hair. Tony plucked again, and slipped a little through the leaf litter.

The Winter Soldier shot him a glare and roughly tugged him to his feet, shoving a knife into the small of Tony’s back to make him walk faster.

Tony sighed, and steadied himself, and continued to walk - tugging away at the tiniest of magic strands as he went.

* * *

“What are you doing?”

Steve ignored the stablehand, hoisting a saddle up on the side of his hip and reaching for a bridle, almost fumbling it in his rush.

“No, seriously,” the voice said, and Steve turned to find a kid blocking his way.

Steve barely paused before shouldering the kid to the side, annoyed at the interruption. He shouldn’t be planning to ride out himself, strictly speaking - the entire city was still on lockdown, every room of every house being searched, and he knew if anybody important found out the king was planning on riding out alone there would be a riot of people here to stop him.

He had to hurry.

“Wait, stop, your, uh, majesty- What’s going on? I heard the bells, and everything-”

Steve hoisted the saddle onto the stall door, opening it to meet his usual horse. Brusquely, he set about saddling it up. “The Winter Soldier attacked,” he said, gruffly, not really caring if it was meant to be a secret. “One of our nobles is missing.”

“Wait, a noble? Which one?”

Steve glanced at the kid, annoyed, but eased off the reprimand he’d been about to bite out at him when he saw open, honest concern written all over the stablehand’s face. “Stark,” he said instead, tightening a strap. “Tony Stark.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Steve paused, surprised, and glanced back.

The kid - he looked no older than 16 - was pacing in the isle, running his hands through his hair, apparently far more worried about Tony’s safety than a normal stablehand would have reason to be. The kid turned, suddenly, and looked at the king. “You’re going to look for him, aren’t you?”

Steve didn’t honour it with a response, besides a pointed look between the bridle in his hands and the horse beside him.

“Take me with you,” the kid started, and Steve raised an irritated eyebrow at him. “I- look, I know Mr. Stark, and I think I can help.”

“You’re too young,” Steve said, finishing the last strap of the bridle and pulling the horse as quickly as he could to the stable door. “Stay here, where it’s safe.”

“But wait, your Majesty, aren’t you meant to have some kind of guard-”

He stopped. The king was already riding out the gate, the dust of the road settling slowly behind him.

Peter let his hands fall to his sides, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Yeah, too young,” he said, and sighed. “That’s what they keep telling me.”

But he went to find a saddle anyway.

He’d look himself, if he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like Tony's not the only one keeping secrets from the king. 
> 
> My tumblr is [here](ValenixFix.tumblr.com). 
> 
> (Thanks to my amazing betas Dragonlover44 and HadesPuppy for being so helpful and patient!)


	6. Chapter 5

Darcy raised her glass, standing to address the tavern at large with an exaggerated smile and wobbly legs. “Ladies and- and gentlemen. Gentle folk. Gentle them?” She tilted her head, momentarily distracted, before seemingly deciding that her word choice was appropriate. “GENTLE-THEM. I propose a TOAST.”

Jane leaned against the bar, amused despite her better judgement. “A toast to what?”

“A toast to- a toast to…” She drifted off, contemplating her glass and the exotic, fruity drink it contained. “I propose a toast.”

Thor rose to his feet, the gesture grand and regal despite his puppy-like eagerness, and roared “HEAR HEAR,” before sloshing his tankard of mead against her glass with enough enthusiasm to spill half of each drink on their owners. Darcy cheered, as did the crowd in the immediate vicinity, and the two of them were joined by half the tavern as they gulped down all that was left of their glass.

Jane clinked her glass with the woman beside her - a slender brunette who had introduced herself as Jessica, or Joan, or something along those lines - and took a hearty sip of her own wine. She wasn’t much of a partier - unlike Darcy, who approached life with a passionate wild abandon - but she enjoyed tavern nights, if only because it was an opportunity to be with people who weren’t Justin Hammer. She watched Darcy start up a dirty drinking song, giggling when she fumbled the words without a care.

A pair of guards stepped in through the door, and a brief silence descended as the people turned to regard them as one.

The guards in Marvel were generally well respected as protectors and champions of their people, but any legal presence in a place rowdy with cheerful drunks was generally greeted with suspicion. The guard waved his hand, placatingly, a polite smile on his face. “We’re running a search,” he announced. “There has been another security breach at the castle proper.”

Whispers and mutters arose, the jovial atmosphere dissolving slightly at the news. An older gentleman rose, slightly, a frown deepening the wrinkles on his face. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been given much in the way of news, but as soon as information is released we will announce it to the public.” The guard gestured to a handful more of his peers just outside the door. “Please stay in groups, and don’t stay out too late - you all know the drill by now. We’ll conduct a search and be on our way. Please let us know if anything seems amiss.”

The whispers that followed the guards as they went to inspect the back rooms and other floors grew louder, more concerned, but gradually the earlier joviality returned, with the addition of a pair of men in the corner aggressively demonstrating what they would do if the assassin tried to attack them.

They weren’t doing very well.

Joan, or Jessica, or whatever her name was, caught one of the guards by the sleeve as she passed by, heading toward the back door. “Winter Soldier?” she asked, just loud enough for Jane to hear.

The guard nodded, then shrugged. “We don’t know anything else, though.”

“Not even for coin?”

The guard gave her a look somewhere near exasperation. “One of these days you’re going to learn not to try bribery.”

“One of these days it’s gonna work.”

Jane raised an eyebrow, about to comment, before Thor swept her up in his arms and landed an extremely distracting kiss on her mouth, and it wasn’t until she surfaced for air a few minutes later that she realised she’d forgotten what she was going to say.

The guards were gone, as was Jessica/Joan, and Thor was looking at her like she’d personally hung the moon, so she gave him another kiss, absent-mindedly shoving Darcy away as she tried to interrupt them.

“Jane.”

Jane shoved her middle finger in the approximate vicinity of Darcy’s face, and Thor’s resulting chuckle broke their kiss for a moment.

“No, seriously, serious- seriously, Jane,” Darcy hissed, low and urgent enough to break through their concentration. “Why is Peter here?”

Jane pulled away with a reluctant sigh and glanced back at the door - then, seeing nobody in the doorway, glanced at the window, where a familiar mask was hanging upside down.

She frowned. The masked figure waved - again, upside down - and pointed down. Or up. Toward the roof.

Then he disappeared. 

It was several minutes before they made it up the stairs themselves, in the confusion of cheerful drunks and wobbly gaits and spilled drinks they passed, so by the time they made it to the top of the landing Peter was wringing his hands. He hushed them as they climbed, trying to pull Darcy faster, pushing her into an empty room and waving the others through after her. “We have a problem.”

“Yeah, we do," Darcy said, pressing a finger into the middle of the boy's chest. "You interrupt’d our drinkin’.” Her eyes narrowed. “I made a toast.”

Peter swatted her hand away, guiding her instead by the shoulder to one of the beds. “We have a real problem,” he said, and Jane suddenly realised the kid looked actually, legitimately scared. “Tony. He’s missing.”

Thor’s expressed was suddenly very, very serious. Darcy looked faintly startled and confused.

“What do you mean, missing?”

Peter turned on his heel, pacing in front of the window. “I just- I just ran into the King, he came to the stables, and rode off on his own looking for him. Said the Winter Soldier attacked.”

“Well, fuck.”

Jane sat down on the bed, thoughts racing. “Do we think he’s…?”

“No,” Thor rumbled, his voice firm but optimistic. “He is a valuable asset. They will want him alive.”

“I’m going to search for him,” Peter said, his chin jutting out as though he expected to have to fight for it. “You can’t stop me. But I need help.”

“I will join you,” Thor said, voice grave, and Jane would have thought he was totally sober if he didn’t subtly suppress a hiccup immediately afterward. The man was a master at holding his liquor. “Do you have supplies?”

“I have, uh, one horse.”

“Good enough,” Thor said. “We will make do.” He turned on his heel, cloak billowing with appropriate flair.

“Or, you know, I could go back to work and get another one, but there was only one there at the time, annnnnnnd he’s already out the door. Jane, Darcy, can you…?”

Jane nodded. “We’ll contact everyone. Don’t worry.”

Peter heaved a sigh of relief, then casually threw himself out the window.

Jane was never going to get used to that.

* * *

Steve should have expected it, but the screech and flutter as something descended upon his back and shoulders still took him by surprise.

He tugged the reins, automatically, and the horse danced to the side as Steve reached for his sword, only for the bird to inquisitively stick its head over his shoulder and look him in the eye.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, releasing his weapon. "Isn't it too dark for you?"

Redwing tilted her head and clambered up his back to perch neatly on his shoulder, where she made a point of ruffling her feathers with tangible disapproval.

“Yeah, well, I got tired of sitting around doing nothing.” He told her, loosening the reins and nudged his horse forward, vaguely hoping the bird would leave him alone. He groaned when she immediately took hold of his shirt collar and tugged it hard to the right.

He tried to shrug her off, and earned a bash over the head with a strong, quick wing.

“Your highness,” Sam’s voice called, from deep in the forest, a flicker of a torch approaching. Steve bristled. “You shouldn’t be out alone.”

“I can’t just wait at the castle,” he called back, trying to gently remove Redwing from his shoulder. She dug her talons in and eyed him with contempt.

Sam emerged from the trees, flame torch held aloft. “Come here, then,” he said. “We’ve found something.”

* * *

“Someone sat here for a bit,” Clint said by way of greeting, pointing at small landmarks in the dust beneath a tree that Steve struggled to see in the torchlight. “Hands bound.”

There was a dark smudge of what looked like dried blood on the tree, too, but Clint didn’t need to point that out.

“Not legs?”

Clint’s eyes narrowed, assessing the ground. “No. But these footprints-” he pointed to a barely visible pattern of disturbed earth “-Are shuffling. I think he’s in a bad way - maybe the Soldier thought he wouldn’t try to run?”

“There’s no way he could - not in this state, not against him.”

“That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try,” Clint muttered under his breath.

They fell into silence, as Clint led the way through the underbrush, apparently seeing footprints Steve couldn’t see himself, besides the occasional place where someone had misstepped, or slipped, or stumbled. He viciously hoped they were the Winter Soldier’s, but he knew better. There was only one set of footprints that stumbled, and the assassin was far more experienced and deadly than his victim.

Then the footprints simply stopped.

It was like they had vanished into thin air. The mud surrounding the last few steps was entirely undisturbed.

Steve glanced up, to where Redwing was pacing down a branch with sharp, clever eyes watching the scene below. “We’ve already checked,” Sam said, apparently guessing his thoughts. “There’s no mud or disturbed bark on the branches.”

“So they just… vanished?”

Clint turned and kicked a tree stump, not bothering to answer. Steve winced.

A branch snapped, and they spun as one, weapons half drawn.

Thor showed his hands, eyebrows raised. “Friends,” he said, nodding a slow greeting. “I have heard grim news.”

Steve stared at him. "Tony was taken," he said, slowly, and Thor nodded, apparently unsurprised. "The people know?"

The prince shook his head. "There are rumours, but I'm sad to hear they are true. I offer whatever assistance I can give."

Steve eyed him, unsure.

Thor was royalty, born as the heir to a neighbouring country. Officially he presented a national security risk, and had been kept at arm's length throughout his extended stay in Marvel, never given access to state secrets and never truly trusted, despite always offering his aid with the earnestness of a golden retriever.

But to Steve, Thor was a dear friend who had been thrown out of home by family, a man who had shown nothing but unwavering loyalty to his friends and an eagerness to do what was right. 

He fell back, releasing his weapon, gesturing for Thor to look at what they’d found.

The prince took a moment to survey the scene, eyes narrowed. He glanced up at the trees, as though something of interest hidden in the canopy, but Steve saw nothing when he turned besides Redwing.

“I sense magic here.”

Steve blinked. “You can do that?”

“Aye. It is a useful gift.” He paused. “I am unsure whether we can track them beyond this point.”

“They’re cloaked somehow?”

“Nay. Perhaps- alas, my studies of magic were usually of a military kind. I know I have heard of transportation spells, but I have no knowledge of whether they are truly possible.”

Steve swore. “Teleportation?”

“Perhaps. I’m unsure. If I could speak to my mother, or brother…”

It wasn’t possible, and Steve knew it. 

“It would explain why I can’t track them any further,” Clint sighed, leaning against a tree, his face unreadable in the moonlight. “Usually even magic can’t hide people’s tracks from me.”

“Why travel so far out, though?”

“They may have only been able to travel a certain distance,” Thor suggested, with another searching glance through the trees. “Or wanted to move far enough that those of us who can sense magic wouldn’t sense them. Such a spell would be very powerful.”

“Or they just wanted to waste our time,” Sam mused. “Or-”

Sam’s eyes widened, and a moment later he was tugging Steve back in the direction they’d come.

“What the hell?”

“A trap,” Sam said, mouth set in a grim line, and Steve relented immediately. “You’re going back to the castle, and an entire battalion of people will investigate this tomorrow.”

“No, there is no way I’m just leaving-”

“Steve.” Clint snapped, grabbing his other arm. “A) You’re the king, and the only heir, so if something happens to you we’re all screwed, and B) Sam’s right. This could be an intentional distraction. We need you at the castle, in control.”

“But Tony-”

“We’re going to do our best to find him, but the best way for you to make sure he has a safe home to return to is to go home and act like the actual king you are.”

Steve relented. They were right.

It wasn’t until they were halfway back to the castle that Steve realised Thor wasn’t with them.

* * *

Thor only had to wait a few minutes, after they left, before the kid dropped from the canopy beside him without a sound.

“I think you’re right about the teleporting thing,” the kid said, his voice slightly petulant as he brushed bark off his fingers. “My spidey sense is tingling.”

“Your ‘spidey’ sense?”

“… It’s what I call it. What do we do?”

Thor climbed atop the horse, which sagged heavily under his weight. He offered a hand to Peter. “We inform the others,” Thor said, quietly. “And we find a way to get him back.”

The kid nodded, and took Thor’s hand.

* * *

The last time Steve had been in the firing range, he’d seen Tony thrown to the ground, an assassin about to put a foot through his chest.

It'd been a week, now, and three days since Tony had been taken. He listlessly tapped his fingers along the edge of the shield, staring at the exact spot, replaying the scene in his mind. The assassin holding him up by the throat, Tony’s struggles growing weaker before finally subsiding. Tony being thrown to the ground, and barely moving. The assassin stamping a foot down hard in the middle of his chest, cruelly waiting until Tony’s scream of pain had died down before raising his foot to do it again.

He hadn’t caught the man’s face. He’d been unmasked, for a moment, but he’d heard them arrive and snatched it up and was gone half a second later, two spies hot on his heels. And Steve had been entirely concerned with getting to Tony, who was rolling up in agony, his face a startling shade of purple, almost in this exact spot.

“I think they’re ready,” Bruce told him, leaning against a post. “They didn’t need any tweaking.”

Steve nodded, brushing the thoughts away, trying to pretend they weren’t still right there in the back of his mind. “Are you sure I should be trying this out now…?”

“He’ll probably be annoyed later,” Bruce admitted with a shrug. “But at this point in time, I think any potential assets should be used. Right?”

Steve ran a hand over the painted surface of the shield as he walked onto the range, taking a moment to adjust to the weight and shape of it against his arm. He spun it, twisted it, and finally took aim at the nearest, most convenient target. He threw it in an arc, the disc slicing through the air without a sound.

The shield hit the mark, but clattered off to the side to spin slowly to a stop on the grass.

“Uh…” Bruce frowned at the notes in his hand, then back at Coulson sitting in the small covered seating area beside the range. The head spy gave him a small smile and nod, watching intently as Steve retrieved the shield again. “Try again?”

The shield showed not even the slightest of scratches, when Steve fetched it, which was somehow not as much of a surprise as it should have been. Steve took it back to where he’d started, once again trying to test the weight of the shield, and aimed for a different target.

It hit perfectly - but it fell to the ground, rocking back and forth.

Bruce tapped his pencil on his chin, eyes narrowed. “Try pushing your magic into it,” he suggested, glancing again at the notebook in his hand - one of Tony’s, if the random sheets of paper sticking out of it at random intervals were any indication. “He designed it so it could ricochet and bounce. He was hoping you’d be able to catch it afterwards. Maybe he was imagining you using your magic to control its course?”

Steve fetched it, faintly irritated, and flung it again, concentrating on channelling every ounce of magic he had into it.

It ricocheted, but skidded and bounced to a harmless stop in the dust at his feet.

He nudged it lightly with a foot. “I don’t think this is working, Bruce.”

Bruce was already flipping through the pages of the notebook, pausing to take the pen out from between his teeth so he could mark a note in the margins. “No, I don’t think it is. I just don’t understand why…”

Natasha materialised beside him, and he jumped, the pen falling through his fingers before he could grab it properly. “You called?”

Coulson gave her a bland smile. “You’re late.”

She shrugged as she sat down on the ground before him, leaning back to enjoy the filtered sunlight on her face. “Clint’s off with the fairies, I think.”

“No I’m not.”

This time Bruce almost dropped the notebook itself. When he looked up, it was to find Clint leaning against the edge of the building, an odd look Bruce had never seen before resting on his face - almost like he was gloating.

Coulson pinched the bride of his nose, holding up a finger when Natasha was about to comment back. “Let’s start. Your Majesty?”

Steve paused, about to try throwing the shield again. “Start… what, exactly?”

Coulson shot him an assessing look, apparently noticing the slight unease in Steve’s voice.

Then again, it was almost impossible not to notice it. Steve wasn’t always great at lying. Pretending that he wasn’t affected by Tony’s abduction, that he wasn’t going out of his mind more and more every hour that passed with no news, that he didn’t desperately want to abandon the castle itself to join the search?

Impossible.

He paused, letting his shield fall to his side as he wandered back toward the shelter - and he couldn’t deny that it was a comfortable weight against his arm, even if it didn’t seem to be working the way it was meant to.

Bruce twitched, fiddling with the pages on the edge of the notebook, reluctant to meet anybody’s eyes. “I, uh, have a few things to admit to,” he said. “That you need to know.”

Steve took a seat, slowly, as Coulson took a moment to concentrate. Almost immediately, the general noise of the castle and city surrounding it fell away into silence.

Bruce’s expression was unreadable. “Tony was… Tony was hiding something in the workshop. A power source. He had it hidden in the forge, but now it’s gone.”

“You think the Winter Soldier got that too?”

Bruce looked exhausted as he nodded. “I don’t really know much about it, actually. He brought it back with him when he came home, after he went missing. At the time he didn’t say anything, except that it was massively dangerous and it needed to be hidden.”

“What was it?”

“A cube. He called it a ‘tesseract’. It was supposed to be some kind of source of magical power.”

Steve leaned back, uneasy. “And he didn’t tell me, because-”

Bruce’s eyes almost looked oddly green, just for a moment, before he scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. “Listen. He had reasons. He was terrified that someone would find it and use it somehow, and he was suspicious of everyone.”

Steve frowned. “I would never use something like that for evil-”

“No, you wouldn’t. But this thing has potential beyond your wildest dreams. It could revolutionise our way of life, if he were to utilise it. You would want to use it for peaceful things, right? You’d want to use it to make our country better, wouldn’t you?”

Steve hesitated. Bruce was right - he considered himself a servant to his people, and as such had a responsibility to do everything within his power to make their lives better. “That depends on what it can do-”

“Exactly,” Bruce said, with a nod of his head for emphasis. He absent-mindedly flipped through the notebook, with its pages covered in Tony’s awful chicken scratch handwriting and half-finished schematic sketches for outlandish machines Steve couldn’t even dream of. “This thing was beyond powerful. He knew if anybody knew it was here, if the other kingdoms were aware of us having some kind of power source far beyond what they had at their disposal, it would instantly make us a target. Using it would bring the world’s attention Marvel’s way, and he refused to put the country in that much danger.”

“I could have protected it better,” Steve insisted, the sense of betrayal sitting uncomfortably in the back of his mind. He was having trouble understanding why the person he trusted so much wouldn’t trust him in return. “I could have put it in the vaults-”

“The vaults are the first place anybody would look, and there are spies who would have noticed an addition being made immediately after Tony’s return. It would have invited suspicion. Besides - the workshop is part of the castle proper. It’s in the lower levels, away from the more important parts of the keep, and it’s already well guarded, considering the other dangerous items in there. It should have been safe where it was, where nobody would think to look. A forge heats to thousands of degrees - nobody would be insane enough to put something valuable inside it for safekeeping. With the specialised heat-protection system we made for it, it should have been perfectly secure.”

“It was stolen! How can you call that secure?”

“Tony and I are the only two people who knew where it was,” Bruce said, folding his arms, and in the filtered light through the nearby trees Bruce’s skil almost looked a little green too. “You know how stubborn the man is. What do you think they had to do to break him, to make sure he led them directly to it? Do you think any of the guards that inspect the royal vaults would have held up under the same pressure?”

“There is evidence of a mole somewhere among our ranks,” Coulson broke in, his voice cutting through the stormy atmosphere that had developed between them all. “We’ve yet to isolate them. Bruce is right - anything we could have done would have put it at risk.”

Steve heard him, and understood, but his mind was still stuck between the twin thoughts of Tony doesn’t trust me and Tony might have been seriously hurt, and his thoughts were otherwise achingly slow.

Bruce was tight-lipped for a second, but seemed to relent. “There are things that happened while he was missing - things that he’s never told anybody. I let him keep his secrets, because I trust him. He’s mad, and insufferable, but I know without a doubt that he is doing everything he can to keep everyone he knows safe.”

Steve was silent. Something was missing. He sensed that Bruce wasn’t saying something important, that he’d deliberately left something out, but he didn’t know what it was.

“Do you know where he is now?”

Bruce hesitated. “I’m not positive, but… I think so.”

* * *

“Not happening.”

The man across from Tony frowned, leaning back in his chair, exuding confused disappointment from every pore. “Tony, come now. I really had hoped we could come to some kind of agreement here.”

“No. Nope. You’re fucking delusional, you know that? What, you think after what happened I would be begging to work for you?”

The man sniffed, as though miffed but unconcerned, and took a sip from his goblet, eyes fixed on Tony’s. “It worked out quite well for you the last time,” he said finally, smacking his lips. Tony watched the goblet with hungry eyes, unable to resist the draw. He’d been hungry and thirsty before, but it'd been days. Now he was desperate, and the thought of lunging across the desk itself was extremely tempting.

“You left me for dead.” He settled for instead, trying to summon a look of righteous indignation that landed instead at just plain pissed.

The man shrugged, half his mouth lifting in a smirk. “You got better.”

Tony simply glowered at him, not even bothering to struggle. The Winter Soldier’s grip was just loose enough that he wasn’t cutting off Tony’s circulation, but he knew without a doubt that with a single movement the man would be able to break several of his bones.

He was too tired for this.

The man behind the desk was still watching at him, but the confident smirk was rapidly slipping into irritation. “If you don’t do it willingly,” his interrogator said, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the extravagant mahogany desk, “I’m sure we can force you, somehow.”

Tony took a moment to appreciate the excellent craftsmanship of the desk, with its elaborate scrollwork and brass inlay, before he spat on it. “You’re welcome to try.”

The man just looked at him, head tilted to the side, as though faintly disappointed. “You’re not well, are you? How’s your chest, by the way? Has it been giving you any problems lately?”

Tony somehow found a way to glare harder, and his captor chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a squeak of leather. “We can probably negotiate a solution there, too - if you’re good. Take him downstairs,” he said, nodding to the Winter Soldier. Tony was abruptly wrenched to his feet and forced to stagger out the door.

“Oh, and Tony?”

The Winter Soldier paused, but Tony didn’t bother turning around. He swayed a little, and started up on plucking away at the spell around the Winter Soldier’s mind, trying to block everything else out.

“It’s lovely to see you again.”

Tony chuckled, slightly.

“Fuck you, Obie,” he replied. “Fuck you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might think I know what I’m doing, but this fic is running away from me and I’m pretty sure I’m herding cats right now. 
> 
> You should definitely [join me on tumblr](valenixfix.tumblr.com).
> 
> (Thanks to my amazing betas Dragonlover44 and HadesPuppy for being so helpful and patient!)


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: torture scenes ahead. If that's a problem for you, skip the italic scenes! 
> 
> Also: exams _suck_ \- 'specially neuro ones. I haven't been able to write a word for AGES.

_ The gag was effective in the sense that Tony couldn’t articulate any actual sounds, and it dug into his cheeks painfully enough, tight enough, that even the thought of trying was painful. It even soaked up the tears that revealed bruises beneath the dirt and ash-stained skin. _

_ It really didn’t stop the screams, though. _

_ He was ready when Obie moved toward him again, and was prepared enough to bite down on the rag in an effort to suppress the urge to scream, but a low, agonised groan escaped him anyway, and Tony sagged in defeat. _

_ “Time for a break?” _

_ Tony groaned, unable to move, unable to think of anything besides the pain. He nodded, hating himself as he did so. _

_ Obie shrugged and moved out of the cell, throwing the poker back into the fire on his way past. _

_ The basement was bizarre. On one end a cell Tony knew was made especially for him. At the other end, an immaculate and opulent sitting room, with a fireplace and elegant wingback chairs, and a door that led to a wine cellar stocked with the finest scotch, whiskey and wine that money could buy. _

_ Tony stared at the door to the stairs, to freedom. He didn’t bother struggling, devoting his energy into trying desperately to figure out some kind of mechanism for escape, trying to pretend he hadn’t already ruled out all the possible options some time ago. His magic was gone, sapped away by the manacles Obie must have paid a princely sum for. He could, possibly, set the flames flickering, or stir up a tiny breeze, but anything that could actually be  _ **_useful_ ** _ was impossible. _

_ For once in his life he actually missed the magic, wanted nothing more than to have it at his disposal. _

_ Nothing came to mind, just as nothing  _ **_had_ ** _ come to mind at any point over the past few days, and Tony shut his eyes. He ignored the feeling of more tears running down his cheeks, ignored the soft chatter from Obie in the next room as he debated which particular drink he wanted to enjoy tonight. _

_ His feet were killing him, scuffed raw and tense from standing on his toes for hours on end. He let his weight sag in the chains, let himself enjoy a moment’s rest even as the weight sent pain blossoming through his shoulders, before he stood again. _

_ He lost a little time, then. _

_ Obie was back, a glass of scotch in hand and a cigar hanging loosely from his teeth.  _ _ He reached for the knot in the blindfold at he back of Tony's head and untied it with a single hand _ _ , pulling it away with a parodic ruffle of Tony’s hair, an echo of the affection he’d shown when Tony was just a boy. He flicked out the cigar, pretending not to notice when the burning ash fell on Tony’s feet, and nodded to the Soldier. _

_ A moment later Tony was on the floor, the chains around his wrists held by the Soldier instead of the hook above. He pressed his forehead to the flagstone floor. _

_ “Hey, kiddo,” Obie said, and Tony realised the man was crouched beside him, elbows balanced on his knees. He took a noisy sip of scotch, the hint of a self-satisfied smile on his lips. “Ready to tell me how to make the thing work?” _

_ Tony stared at him, limp, concentrating on catching his breath over responding. Obie reached down and brushed the hair from Tony’s face, smiling affectionately, and he felt an overwhelming wave of hatred and disgust flood him. He turned his head and bit the flesh of his palm, feeling a wave of satisfaction when he tasted blood and heard Obie’s scream of shock and pain. _

_ A disorienting moment later, Tony was lifted and pressed against the wall by a metal arm, his feet dangling inches above the floor. He grinned, harsh and feral, blood staining his lips and teeth. _

_ “Ungrateful brat,” Obie snarled, clutching his injured hand close to his chest. He buried his fist into Tony’s belly with a blow that left Tony folded up in the Winter Soldier’s arms, wheezing in pain. _

_ Worth it. _

_ Obie left - Tony wasn’t entirely sure where, or when, and somehow didn’t care. He braced his hand on the Winter Soldier’s arm, trying weakly to hold himself up. _

_ The Winter Soldier stared at him, eyes cold and narrowed. _

_ “Hey, uh, buddy,” Tony croaked, his voice little more than a hoarse rasp of air over bloodstained lips. “Any chance you’re feeling slightly less Wintery right now?” _

_ The soldier tilted his head to the side, and for the barest moment Tony could see something different in his face - something hopelessly lost and confused. Then the hand around his neck tightened, and Tony scrabbled at the arm to relieve the pressure. _

_ His fingertips brushed bare skin on the top of the Soldier’s shoulder. _

_ Obie had been smart. The anti-magic restraints were state of the art. But they’d obviously never been tested on someone who held the magnitude of power Tony possessed. He couldn’t blow a hole in the side of the cell and march off to freedom, but he had something. He had physical contact with the Winter Soldier, and when he committed everything he had he was still barely able to rifle around in the spell around Bucky’s mind. _

_ He wasn’t careful, not any more. He was getting desperate, quickly losing his ability to stay awake, let alone withstand the torture. He chose threads at random, frantically rummaging through, no longer bothering to find a pattern, simply hoping that at some point the spell would lose its hold and break away - even if only a little bit. _

_ He bowed his head and let his weight sag in the Soldier’s arms, vaguely registered that he was wheezing and there was a concerning rattle in his lungs that could spittle, or could be something much worse. _

_ He felt around, snapped a thread. The Winter Soldier twitched slightly above him. Tony chose another strand and plucked that one too. _

_ So it went, for a while. _

* * *

The manor attached to the outer walls of the castle was a contradiction. Its walls and architecture were elaborate and rich, but the gardens were sparse and the windows were largely dim. The creature eyed it with interest. Its roof came close to the castle wall itself, and so the building could potentially act as an entry point later on. That said, the manor seemed well protected by a high, smooth wall and an imposing metal gate.

The boy latched onto a rope by the gate and pulled on it, pressing himself closer to the smaller gated doorway as though hoping to keep out of the rain - an effort that was apparently failing.

It was time.

It wasn’t ideal, attacking the child in the middle of what seemed to be a town centre, but this seemed to be a wealthy area - the houses were spread apart and surrounded by gardens, and the shops on this side of the road were all closed. Very few people would be looking out onto the street, it thought.

Not that it really cared.

It climbed down from the townhouse roof and darted across the road, only just finding cover as the boy turned to look in its direction. It waited until the kid turned around, until the kid had pressed himself close to the gate again.

It was always better when they were surprised.

It crept out from its hiding place and paced toward him, savouring the anticipation, enjoying the swish of its feet through puddles and the slick of rain beating down its back.

It was almost upon the kid when he turned around again, close enough to register the look of surprise and shock melting away into determination, when the boy fired some kind of web at it, and in a moment its limbs were stuck to each other. It slipped slightly on the wet cobblestone, and lunged - barely managing to get its web covered hands around the boy’s throat, lifting him, struggling, into the air.

Another blast of web caught the creature on the side, the other end of the rope attaching itself to a building across the street, and they both toppled to the ground as the web shortened and pulled them both to the side. The boy rolled away and the creature caught his leg, pulling him down, drawing a weapon and pressing it to the boy’s head-

An arrow appeared in its throat and it gurgled, its limbs momentarily resisting against the small white ropes that encased them. It dropped the weapon and let go, both hands reaching to grasp around the shaft of the arrow, before it choked and spluttered and fell to the ground. Still.

Peter scrambled back, trying to figure out something smart and clever to say but somehow coming up with nothing. This was more than petty criminals that he cheekily apprehended in Iron Man’s stead. The creature’s skin was grey, its mouth open and vicious. It wasn’t human. He’d never seen anything like it before.

This thing was new.

Peter barely noticed Jarvis’s arms surround him and pull him through the gate to shelter from the rain. The butler shoved him down against a bench and leant to look out into the street, and Peter realised with a start that he’d been saved by an arrow.

Hawkeye. Clint Barton. Tony had talked about him a lot, about how he seemed almost trustworthy, but a spy could never be trusted. So when he peeked back out into the street to see the man crouched by the body, inspecting it, he felt a cold shiver down his spine, a ripple of fear when he realised this could be it. This could be the moment he was arrested.

The archer slid a hand along the webbing, testing its strength, and looked up, his eyes meeting Peter’s through the gate and behind Jarvis’s back. His eyes narrowed. Assessing.

“I’ve seen this webbing before.”

“Have you?” Jarvis replied, tone careful and arch as he tried to subtly shift to keep Peter from view. “Did the creature create it?”

Clint shook his head, his eyes finally leaving Peter’s. The boy pressed himself against the wall inside, shivering, trying to think of where he could run. There was Aunt May’s, and the Asgardians’, and…

Clint stood, dusting his hands off, and debated retrieving the arrow. He didn’t say anything for a long second, and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, dismay crashing through him in waves. This was it. This was the moment where everything came crashing down around him, the incident that would reveal to an entire city the shame that haunted his past. He’d known for some time that this day was coming, but he hadn’t prepared, and there was still so much left he wanted to do before he was thrown in prison-

“The kid’s lucky Iron Man was around. I must have just missed him. He alright?”

Jarvis was unusually still. Shock, or unease, perhaps. He glanced at Peter behind him and hesitated, eyes narrowed. “He seems… mostly unharmed.”

“What was he doing here anyway?”

Peter cleared his throat, mind running away from him. “I had a delivery,” he choked. “From Jan. At the palace. For T-… for Mr Stark.”

There was a long silence while Clint watched him, his face unreadable. Then-

“Ah! That explains everything then.”

Clint’s tone of voice was almost cheerful as he stooped to wrench the arrow out of the creatures throat. He tried to wipe it on the creature’s chest but gave up, swishing it through a puddle instead and stepping toward them, taking temporary shelter from the rain in the alcove of the gate. He checked Peter over himself, apparently finding everything in order as he slipped the arrow back into his quiver. “Anything else I can help with? Before I drag this thing back to the Guard?”

Jarvis shook his head, and thanked him, so Clint turned to go, hefting the creature’s legs up so he could drag the body back toward the nearest Guard tower.

Peter sank to the ground, his heart in his throat, and wondered what he should do.

* * *

“What do we even tell them?”

Jarvis glanced aside at Peter. “Get down from there,” he said, with the tired tone of someone who had said it a million times. He waited until Peter slipped off the kitchen counter before turning back to the pot on the stove. “Do you mean your compatriots?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s easy enough with us, since we’re like, inner circle, you know, with how we know all about Iron Man, but none of the others do.”

Jarvis hummed as he thought. “I did not think we had to tell them anything.”

“But they’re not going to be concerned about Tony being missing-”

“Tony has done many kind things for every person in that room,” he said, glancing at the stairway leading down to the basement. “They do not need to know his other identities to be concerned for his well-being.”

“Still. Tony’s gone missing, and Iron Man mysteriously stops being active?”

“I think more of them know than let on,” Jarvis said, with the ghost of a smile on his lips. He knew the loyalty some of them had shown. The willingness to help their city in any way that they could, to repay Mr Stark, even if it put them in danger. “But Sir did leave instructions, if something like this were to occur. We need only say Iron Man has gone to rescue him, at this stage.”

“They’ll think he abandoned us!”

“They know Iron Man trusts them to keep this city safe without him. Which, I might add, he does.”

Peter stared at the mug in his hands as it steamed, only now realising that his fingers were numb. Jarvis picked up the rest of the pot and a platter of mugs and led the way down the hallway to the basement door.

“… Jarvis?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Is he coming back?”

Jarvis very carefully controlled his expression.

No, he thought. No, he probably isn’t. The thought tore him to pieces. 

He didn’t want to let on, though. He didn’t want anybody, least of all this child, to realise exactly how dire the situation was, so he pulled himself together and gave a tight-lipped smile as he glanced back over his shoulder. “I think he is more capable than even you realise.”

The boy nodded, slowly, and followed him down the stairs.

* * *

Nobody had set out to create the group in the basement. It was an eclectic bunch of people brought together entirely through circumstance and necessity. Each one possessed powers that they shouldn’t have, or knowledge of those who did, and they’d been brought together to protect each other and the city from attack.

Jarvis wasn’t sure how most of them got their powers. He’d never asked. He trusted Tony’s instincts, knew that none of the people there had expressed anything other than loyalty and willingness to protect those that needed it at all costs. None of them seemed the type to kill anybody.

And yet here they were.

He put the pot on the table and started to pour out mugs of hot cocoa, each one accepted with a quiet ‘thanks’ and an attempt at a smile.

“Chitauri.”

As one, all the guests looked up. Rhodey unrolled one of the notices they had all seen appear in the city since that morning; a grisly picture of a grey-skinned monster with a startling array of teeth. He set it on the table and spread it out with his hands. “The most we know is that they’re some kind of inhuman race - maybe demons, maybe something else. They’re the soldiers that seem to be filling up Hydra’s war camp - very, very slowly.”

Jan wrinkled her nose, blowing steam from her mug. “They look unfriendly.”

“And dangerous,” Rhodey said, with a pointed look in Peter’s direction. “From what we’ve seen, and what information our spies have managed to gather, they’re extremely reckless in battle. They’re not particularly powerful, per se, but they’re definitely a threat in larger numbers. Especially when they don’t appear to care much about their own safety.”

“Why are you telling us this? We’re here to protect the city - we can’t go to war.”

Rhodey paused, and bowed his head. “I know. I know your identities need to be kept secret, and that I can’t ask you to reveal yourselves. But the war is coming to us.” Rhodey said, bowing his head as he braced his palms against the steady, reassuring weight of the table.

Peter cleared his throat. “It attacked me. Well, one of them did. Last night.”

“And he barely made it out alive.” Rhodey said, with a nod and a frown. “Though his identity may have been compromised. Clint Barton got involved. So far as I can tell he hasn’t told a soul, but he set out immediately to follow its tracks. He may find something there. We’re not sure.”

“Why did it come here, though?”

Rhodey ran a hand across the map, from Hydra’s base to an inconspicuous town on the border. He tapped a finger on it, thoughtful. “A scout, maybe. I’m personally worried that it was sent for Pete directly. You all know Tony Stark was taken several days ago?”

A ripple of concerned murmurs made its way around the room.

“We believe he’s been taken to the estate of Obadiah Stane,” he said, tapping a finger on a small town on the border between Hydra and Marvel. “You all know how dangerous that man is, even if none of us know exactly what he did to Tony. He’s twisted up in this war, somehow. He’s got some kind of plan to profit from it, and it requires Tony’s assistance. And you all know that that man will not talk if he thinks it has the faintest chance of putting innocent lives in danger.”

“What are you saying?”

“I think it was going to take you to them,” Rhodey said, with a grimace, as he took in Peter’s pinched expression. “And then I think they were going to hurt you in front of him. I think you were meant to be a hostage.”

“But that means…” Jan rose to her feet, looking around the room. “That means anybody close to Tony is a target.”

Rhodey sighed and nodded. “Jarvis, Pepper - any of the people Tony mentored. Anybody Tony has helped in a public manner.”

Silence descended around the table as they all took that in. Pepper’s eyes were damp but her mouth set in a determined line. Bruce’s eyes were hooded, a fist pressed over his mouth, his thoughts clearly far away. Wanda’s eyes glowed faintly red.

“Iron Man’s gone, isn’t he?”

Kamala looked uncharacteristically small and uncertain in her place at the end of the table. She adjusted her weight and cleared her throat. “He’s gone. I haven’t seen him since- since Mister Stark was taken.”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, but said nothing. Rhodey’s expression darkened as he bowed his head again, to spare the others his look of pain. “Iron Man went with him.”

“He helped kidnap him?”

“No! No, he’s… He’s gone after him. To bring Tony home.”

“And so it is our duty to take up his mantle until he returns,” Thor said as he stood, small crackles of lightning in his eyes. He gestured around the table. “Marvel has much protection; its military and Guard are filled with admirable soldiers - but you all have seen how desperately it needs our Watch.”

Bruce nodded, his fist finally falling from where it’d been covering his mouth. “We all know there’s a reason Iron Man hasn’t been investigated, not even enough to realise that it’s not just one suit of armour.”

Thor nodded, grave. “So we will increase our efforts to protect the city, and continue leaving Iron Man’s mark. We will keep Marvel safe - until both he and Stark can return and retake his mantle.”

Pepper watched them all nod and proclaim their support, for once unable to speak up. Rhodey met her eyes. So did Jarvis.

None of them smiled.

* * *

“We need Iron Man.”

Pepper hid her surprise well - her poker face was always admirable. Steve still noticed her pen pause, just for a moment, before she finished the sentence she was writing.

“We need Iron Man,” she repeated back at him. “Why do we need Iron Man?”

Steve took a seat in front of her desk. “I’m sending a small party after- after the Winter Soldier. I want them to be safe - I want Tony to be safe - so I want Iron Man to go with them.”

Pepper put her pen down with slow care, frowning slightly. “How do you expect to convince him?”

“Could you put word out?”

“I… could. I’m not sure he will answer, though.”

“Make it a royal decree.”

She stared at him. “He never cared about any of the other ones.”

He looked away. “I don’t think we really meant the other ones. I don’t like him, but I can recognise that he helps keep our streets clean. The number of petty criminals we’ve rounded up thanks to him…” He trailed off, glancing out the window. “But I can’t let him sit aside while our people are in danger. We don’t have his power, and we need it, not just to get Tony back, but to protect ourselves against Hydra. They might be unprepared, but they’re doing something, and I suspect we’ll need everything we’ve got to keep Marvels safe.”

She seemed troubled. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the armrests of the uncomfortable chair he suspected she’d chosen deliberately so people would leave her office faster. “I know you don’t trust him, Ms. Potts. I don’t like it either. But even I can recognise that we need his help.”

She was looking at him, as though trying to find the solution to a problem Steve wasn’t able to see. She tapped her pen on the forms and declarations she was working on, and narrowed her eyes. “How do you know it was him? That he hasn’t already gone after Ton- the Winter Soldier?”

Steve slumped backward into his chair. “If he has, then we’ll run into him on the way, and I’ll forgive him for not responding. But Clint found a body last night - one of the creatures Peggy sent warning of. He said he thought he saw Iron Man escape just before he got there. It’s possible he left this morning, but…” he trailed off.

The body that had been found had been a perfect match for the drawing Hill had shown them only a few days prior. They were meant to be in Hydra - the fact that one had turned up in Marvel was very bad news.

Iron man had clearly taken this one down. It’d been covered by the webs that had been associated with the armoured figure. For that, Steve was thankful, but they had other guards, and he would remain in the city, and getting Tony back apparently seemed like a matter of national importance.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

“I can only assume that he’s still in the city,” he sighed. “If he doesn’t step forward, I’ll be forced to hunt him down.”

He realised Pepper looked distinctly unhappy. “After we find Tony and bring him home, that is,” he added.

That didn’t make her feel any better, apparently.

“I’ll put out a notice,” she said, almost reluctantly. “And I’ll set up reward posters. If you really want this.”

He nodded, satisfied, and stood to leave. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “We’ll keep him in line when we find him, and he’ll be brought to justice for his crimes.”

Pepper waited until he’d closed the door after himself, and sighed.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

* * *

“So how does it work, exactly?”

Bruce glanced up in surprise. “I thought you were heading out, after that Chitauri…?”

Clint paused, and shrugged. “I didn’t find anything. Anyway, I’m dying of curiosity, - how does this tesseract thing even work?”

Bruce frowned, slightly. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because there’s a good chance they’re already using it, and I’d like to know how to stop it.”

Bruce paused. It was a decent point. “There was a way to activate it. Tony never told Stane, so far as I’m aware. He was smart enough to keep it out of his notes.” Probably so he could have a monopoly on it, Bruce thought, with a note of bittersweet sadness. Tony had changed a lot over the past five years.

Clint leaned against the workbench, glancing over the scattered half-finished projects. “Did he ever tell you what it was?”

Bruce nodded, looking away as Clint idly started to flip through a notebook. “He told me how to shut it down. I think he was worried that he… that he wouldn’t be around, if someone else managed to get their hands on it. I never asked how to activate it.”

The archer frowned, bored, and put the book down next to a new arrow prototype Tony had been working on with total disinterest. “What if Stane figured it out?”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Bruce muttered. “I can tell you how to shut it off?”

There was a small pause. “Please do.”

Bruce told him.

He would regret that, later.

* * *

_ He must have fallen asleep at one point - Tony refused to say he’d  _ **_passed out_ ** _ \- because he found himself being jostled awake when the Winter Soldier let him fall to the ground. _

_ Obie was back, his smile friendly again, if tighter than before. His hand looked swollen under the bandage Obie had wrapped around it, and Tony found himself  _ **_viscerally_ ** _ hoping that he developed some kind of infection. “I was wondering,” he said, squatting on his heels and tilting his head, as though a friendly uncle offering a piece of candy. “If maybe we could tempt you in some other way?” _

_ Tony went to spit on him, but a metal hand covered his mouth and another wrenched his bound arms higher up his back, forcing him into a painful kneel. He struggled, and tried to bite the hand, but froze when the Soldier snarled. _

_ This was getting old. _

_ Obie rose from his crouch slowly, a deeply satisfied smile spreading across his face. “I have an offer for you. You give me all the information I need, and I leave your friends alone.” _

_ Tony tried to struggle again, even knowing it was useless. The soldier jolted his arms higher, and Tony suppressed a groan of pain. _

_ “Our friend here-” he nodded at the Winter Soldier - “Has sent me back updates about you, over his time watching you in Marvel. He said you’ve got quite the circle. Do they know you’re a murderer?” _

_ Tony squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut his voice out. Obie clicked his tongue, and carefully selected a pair of pliers from the small table by the door of the cell. “If you decide to work with me, of course, I’m sure we can set up some sort of solution. You can go home, with a new core, and your friends don’t need to know what you’ve done. If you keep up this inane resistance, however…” _

_ Tony struggled again, and the Soldier growled, leaning in, and Tony’s ribs creaked under the strain. _

_ “I can always bring in one of your friends,” Obie told him, close enough that Tony could smell his cigar-scented breath. “Which one would you like? What about the boy? What’s his name… Peter?” _

_ Tony went limp, compliant, eyes wide and a tremor of anger vibrating across his skin. Obie chuckled, contemplating the tool in his hand. “Or perhaps old Jarvis?” He clicked his tongue. “He’s getting old, though. Might not last long. What do you think, kiddo?” _

_ Tony didn’t try to speak. He just shut his eyes. _

_ There was only so much he could bear. He knew what Obie was speaking of would kill him. Even if they let him crawl out of this place alive in the end, losing the people he loved would be the end of him. Either he died later, after Stane had had his way with Tony’s loved ones, or he prevented them being harmed at all. _

_ If he had to die, here in captivity, so be it. He would do anything to protect those he loved. _

_ Unless… _

_ There was no point being subtle anymore. He closed his eyes, reached for a handful of magic strands from the web around the Winter Soldier’s mind, and pulled, half expecting to be thrown to the ground and beaten for it. He would have welcomed it. _

_ Instead, he felt the thread snap and the web finally fall away, crumbling into nothing, and for a moment Tony was numb in disbelief. It had been so  _ **_easy,_ ** _ in the end. The hands around his wrists loosened, and Tony felt a rush of relief that flooded him to the core.  _

_ But they tightened again, instantly, even more painfully than before. _

_ Obie turned the tool over in his hands. When he looked at Tony again, his smile was wicked, triumphant. “I think I’ll start with the kid,” he said, casually, as though choosing his evening’s entertainment. “Then - what was her name? Pepper? Then the butler, and the scientist immediately after. Which one do you think will last longest? Who else do you care about, Tony?” _

_ Tony struggled slightly, and the Winter Soldier crashed him to the ground and pressed his head into the concrete, growling above him until Tony stilled, feeling his heart sink into despair. _

_ Bucky was gone. It was over. He was down to only one option. _

_ Obie knelt beside him and brushed the hair away from Tony’s forehead. “Because you know what, kiddo?” he said, with a cheerful smile. “Nobody cares about  _ **_you_ ** _.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who skipped the torture scenes: Tony's trapped in Obie's basement, with anti-magic bindings. Obie threatens to hurt Tony's loved ones; Tony bites him, and manages to break the spell holding the Soldier hostage without Obie noticing. It doesn't seem to have changed anything. 
> 
> Until next time [I'm here on Tumblr](valenixfix.tumblr.com).
> 
> (Thanks to my amazing betas Dragonlover44 and HadesPuppy for being so helpful and patient!)


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why this chapter took so freaking long to finish, just know that prior to editing and killing my darlings this chapter was about 15k. Most of my other chapters are ~3-6k. 
> 
> Yeah. 
> 
> Anyway, come: let's play "Spot the foreshadowing!"

“Tony?”

He stirred, slightly, reluctant to open his eyes, even as he felt a delicate hand trace its way down the angle of his jaw. He leaned into the touch and sighed in contentment, and whoever was behind him, curled around him on the bed, chuckled softly in his ear. “I know you’re awake,” the voice whispered, warm and gentle behind his ears. An arm slipped around his waist, pulled him close.

Tony cracked one eye open, lazily taking in the dust motes falling gently through a beam of morning sunlight, as it lanced in from the windows. He recognised the sheets - ornate, fine, but still sensible - and turned his head slightly, to catch amused, affectionate blue eyes staring back at him.

“Hey,” he whispered, unable to help the smile that grew across his face. Steve’s hand on his cheek stilled, the thumb resting on his bottom lip. “Hey,” Steve whispered in response, and his thumb moved, stroking along his lip, until Tony reached up and held his wrist still enough for him to press a tender kiss to the centre of Steve’s broad palm. Steve’s face dipped lower, and Tony willingly tilted his head back, giving him more room to nip and kiss at the edge of his jaw - in the exact spot he liked to be kissed.

It stayed like that, for a moment - a picture perfect moment of a blissful morning, the exact scene Tony had been dreaming of since the morning he’d woken held tightly in Steve’s embrace. He closed his eyes again, enjoying the feeling of Steve’s mouth on his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, and the hand that swept its way from his cheek to wrap gently, securely around his neck.

“You try so hard,” Steve said, the words ghosting over where he’d just pressed some delightfully wet kisses, and Tony shivered. “Always trying to be better, to be good-”

Steve’s hand around his neck grew tight, and Tony’s eyes flew open in surprise. Suddenly, Steve was furious, blue eyes cold and distant as the hand around his neck tightened again, making him gasp for air. “But you’re not a good person, are you Tony?”

He struggled, hands scrabbling at the one around his neck, but Steve’s eyes just grew colder, his hands entirely unforgiving - like steel, instead of flesh. “You’re a murderer, aren’t you?” Steve whispered, bending down low enough to whisper it directly into his ear, and Tony wildly shook his head. “No,” he gasped, desperate for breath. “No, it wasn’t-”

”It was you,” the king hissed, and Tony stopped struggling, could only stare at his captor in defeated horror. “You started all of this, didn’t you?”

Tony whimpered, but there was nothing to say, nothing he could say. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately scrabbling at the hands that were strangling him. The hands moved, pulled him up, and he lashed out - hands, feet, everything - in a last ditch effort to defend himself. He heard a grunt as his knee made contact, and suddenly his neck was free.

He opened his eyes, sucking in air, barely able to take anything in before hands were on him again - one flesh, one metal - and he tried to struggle again before a metal hand gagged him.

“For fuck’s sake, Stark,” a voice hissed, as icy blue eyes came into his range of vision. “I’m trying to get it off you, hold still,” and Tony realised with a start that he wasn’t clawing at hands, but instead a collar strapped tight around his neck.

The one Stane had put there, beset with runes that cut off his magic.

He relented, but only a little - only enough for the Soldier to twist the collar around and insert a key. It clicked, and the collar fell away, and Tony was abruptly overwhelmed by the sensation of the magic returning - not flowing so much as slamming into him, leaving him breathless and struggling to breathe in its wake. He whined, eyes squeezed closed, overwhelmed.

“For a genius, you really aren’t that smart.”

It was whispered, but it wasn’t malicious. If anything, it was oddly sympathetic - affectionate. A hand held his wrist, gently turning the manacle there until it, too, clicked and fell away.

Tony barely had the breath to respond, but he was Tony Stark, and he always had a reputation to uphold, so he wobbly lifted his head and glared at grey eyes long enough to clear his throat, the breath rattling in his lungs. “To be fair,” he croaked, letting his head fall back against the wall, aware that he was exposing his throat but unable to watch what Bucky was doing otherwise. “For all that people say I’m intelligent, nobody’s ever accused me of being smart.”

There was a brief chuckle, a smirk, and something clicked in his mind as he watched the Soldier carefully turn the manacle on his right wrist. The door of the cell was still locked, but it’d been wrenched away from the rest of the cell wall by a grip that almost seemed to have torn the metal asunder - an indentation on one of the bars looked distinctly like a human hand had put it here. The entrance of the cage wasn’t so much broken into as twisted and deformed beyond recognition.

And yet-

He glanced at the Soldier, noticed the soft and gentle way he was handing him. Clearly he could literally tear the manacles apart, but instead he was nimbly handling a set of keys, letting the manacle fall away on its own before moving to the ones around his ankles.

The soldier was being careful.

Bucky was being careful.

Another click. Another manacle fell, and his rescuer glanced up at him, the faint echo of amusement in one quirked eyebrow at Tony’s astonishment. If that wasn’t proof of his safety, Tony didn’t know what was.

“Antagonising Stane,” Bucky continued, with a shake of his head. “Removing the spell right in front of him. Winter could have killed you.”

“But he didn’t. He put up with me fiddling around for days.” He smirked, a cocky edge seeping into his voice. “I think he kinda liked me.”

Bucky looked at him again, his expression unreadable, as he he unlocked his second ankle. His voice slipped from jovial to gently concerned as he leaned back, his task complete. “How are you feeling?”

For once, Tony didn't say anything. He just raised his eyebrows, and gestured at the state of his body. 

Bucky cringed. “Okay, well. The good news is-” he gestured at the loosened chains discarded around them, “-That’s no longer an issue. The bad news is, we’re gonna have to run.”

Tony nodded, and started to climb to his feet, but stopped when a metal hand pushed him back down. “Wait, wait. You’re not… god, you have no self preservation instincts, do you? Don’t move.”

Tony glared, and because he wasn’t himself if he was being difficult, he told him “I do what I want.”

“By all means, then,” Bucky said, shuffling back a little on his knees, immediately giving him room. “Up you get.”

… Okay, so Tony wasn’t typically used to people calling his bluff. He struggled to his knees and swayed, overcome by the instant wave of nausea that slammed into him.

Stark men were made of Iron.

Stark men didn’t give up.

Apparently, Stark men were open to the prospects of being rescued by princes in shining armour.

Bucky’s grin was inappropriately triumphant as he slipped an arm under Tony’s knees, the other under his shoulders, and a dizzying moment later they were hurrying up the stairs. “I’m sorry,” he stage whispered, sounding only mildly apologetic. “We really don’t have a lot of time. Carrying you isn’t ideal-”

Tony waved a hand, tucking his head into Bucky’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’m surprisingly into this. Almost aroused, even.”

Bucky’s grip faltered the tiniest amount, and he spared him a glance, somewhere between concerned and amused. They’d reached the top of the stairs. Tony obligingly opened the door when Bucky gestured to it, and they peeked out into the hallway beyond.

There were four bodies on the floor. Tony tensed, slightly. The guards here weren’t necessarily evil, they were mostly just kids from the nearby village who needed a little money to get by, and now they were-

“Unconscious,” Bucky muttered, and they were moving quickly down the corridor now. “They’ll be fine.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

“I didn’t think you were into guys.”

For a moment Tony was thrown, blinking up at his rescuer until his mind drifted back to their previous conversation. It took a concernedly long time.

“I’m being rescued from captivity by a literal prince in… Well, partially shining armour,” Tony said, gesturing loosely at the magic metal arm supporting his legs. “And you expect me to not be into it?”

Bucky grinned.

“Wait,” Tony jolted in his arms, remembering a moment too late that moving - even just struggling against the arms that held him - set his head spinning. He tried, so very hard, to make Bucky turn around. “The tesseract. We have to get it. It can’t stay here. We have to get it and take it home and hide it-”

“It’s gone.”

“What do you mean it’s gone?”

Bucky shrugged, continuing on as though what he’d said wasn’t catastrophic in its implications. “I mean that about ten minutes after I- after Winter- brought it in, they sent it off to Hydra.”

“It’s gone.”

“Yeah.”

“They have it.”

“Yep.”

“They have the blueprints too.”

Bucky hadn’t seen any blueprints, but he’d heard Stane mention some on several occasions. “Uh-huh.”

“We’re fucked.”

“Home first, fucking later,” Bucky said. He carefully set Tony on his swaying feet and ducked through the doorway. A series of thumps and yells on the other side later, Bucky was back, catching Tony as he started to sink to his knees and swinging him up into a fireman’s carry.

“You’re hitting on me,” Tony said, oddly fascinated as he watched the floor flash by beneath him. He recognised the tiles - they were on the ground floor, heading back toward the kitchens and laundries. He frowned as they passed a truly hideous and ridiculously ornate statue; nothing lay in this direction but gardens and forest beyond.

The road was in the complete opposite direction, wasn’t it?

Bucky skidded to a stop in front of another door and ducked through it, just as a pair of maids turned into the corridor behind them. For a moment they leaned against the door, Tony panting more than Bucky was, because of course the Prince was a literal paragon of human physical fitness who didn’t get tired, even while escaping. Bucky pressed an ear to the door. “You started it.”

“I would never do such a thing.”

“Of course. Tony Stark, the nobleman most well known for never flirting with anybody, ever.”

"I didn't know His Royal Highness paid attention to any of his subjects."

They heard a scream. The maids outside ran past. Tony finally lifted his head enough to look around. They were in a larder, one Tony recognised well. He’d played in here, when he visited as a child. Bucky set him down and moved to listen at the other door - the one that led to the kitchen - for movement on the other side.

Hey, if Tony took the opportunity to subtly sabotage some of the ingredients for Obie’s favourite foods, who could blame him? Besides all the coffee and chocolate, of course. He stole all of that that he could find. 

Bucky returned, and picked him up in a fireman’s carry again, completely ignoring Tony’s yelp. Before Tony could get his bearings they were already through the kitchen, out the door into the garden, and sprinting across pristine green lawns. The feeling of sunshine on his back, as Bucky sprinted toward the cover of the gardens, was warm and unfamiliar. He concentrated on breathing, struggling a little with Bucky’s shoulder repeatedly digging into his stomach as he ran. “Where are we going?” he gasped. “I hate to break it to you, but the stables are in literally the opposite direction.”

“We’re travelling a little faster than that.”

Oh. He noticed the bag strung over Bucky’s other shoulder. “You got a waystone?”

“There weren’t any for Marvel,” Bucky replied, by way of answer, and Tony quietly wasn’t surprised; he was the one who made and bound them, of course. “I took all but two of them - Stane took the others to Ravenous for a meeting.” 

He said it all in the most matter-of-fact voice - as though escaping from a compound were a regular Tuesday afternoon for him. 

It's possible that it was, Tony thought. For the Winter Soldier, at least.

“And then what?”

Bucky didn’t respond. They’d breached the tree-line, and his concentration was taken up by weaving through the undergrowth without leaving any tracks. He kept to rocks when he could - exposed roots when he couldn’t - and Tony was left to watch the scenery pass him by in silence. Far off in the distance, back toward Stane’s estate, a bell started to ring.

* * *

The walls of Ravenous were imposing, even from where Obadiah Stane stood atop them.

He leaned on a barrier, elbows propped on the top of the waist-high wall that surrounded the top of it, looking down at the encampment below. It was relatively small, only big enough for a hundred or so men. Definitely not as large as the encampment that surrounded the Capitol, but enough to feed the meagre count of support troops that had gathered there in wait for the coming war.

“We grow tired of you wasting our time.”

Stane gripped the balustrade with fingers white with tension, but carefully schooled his posture into something resembling comfort. “I told you,” he said, voice lined with practiced ease. “I’ll have everything you need by the end of the week.”

“You’ve already been given two.”

He paused. “It’s taken a little more time than anticipated-”

“It seems you lied to us about what you had to offer.”

“I gave you a priceless artifact!” he yelped, the control slipping.”And the blueprints! This is one small fucking hiccup in the plan, what more do you want from me?”

The moment the words were out of his lips he flinched, unsure what to expect, but internally preparing for the worst.

Loki paused, head tilted elegantly to the side. “And yet, oddly, you still don’t seem to know how to use it,” he said, words dripping with poison as he languidly leaning against the balustrade beside him. “It seems everything else you’ve offered us hinges on that one, monumental detail.”

The guards that stood around them seemed rather more threatening than they had when this had been a more friendly ‘business negotiation’. Now Stane eyed the fall behind the barrier in concern, suddenly hyper aware of how easy it would be for him to be tossed over the edge.

“I know,” he stuttered, shame ripping through him. “I know, I’m working on it. I swear I’ll have everything you need before the week is out.”

“You’re certain?”

He gritted his teeth. “I’ll get it for you.”

Loki studied him, clever green eyes narrowed. “You’re not the only one at our disposal, you know.”

“Is that a threat?”

Loki didn’t say anything, but his look of disdain spoke for him, even as he turned to leave.

Stane thumbed the waystone in his pocket, glad he hadn’t had to use it as an emergency way out - it would have been especially nasty if he’d had to use it in free-fall from the top of the wall. He stared down at the camp below, trying to tamp down the fear that lingered in the back of his throat.

He’d caught a look at himself as he’d left that morning, before he’d selected the waystones he needed and left. He hadn’t liked what he’d seen. an old man, no longer the picture of an affable, friendly uncle. He was haggard, lines of stress marring his brow. He ran a nervous hand through his beard as he watched a handful of troops make their way through the camp, thinking.

He was running out of time. He’d have to make good on his threats and bring in hostages to lever the information he needed out of Tony. He would have to send the Winter Soldier to Marvel again, a task that would take at least three days. It would be difficult to bring in multiple hostages, of course - especially considering Marvel was probably on high alert and protecting everyone that knew Stark personally, so he would probably have to choose.

He wasn’t sure which option would be the most effective.

He thumbed the waystone in his pocket again, feeling the cracks in its metallic casing, weighing up his options, trying to decide who Tony would be most desperate to protect, and considered himself lucky that at least, with the Winter Soldier keeping careful guard, there was no way in hell Tony was going ever to escape while he was gone. 

The stream water was icy against Tony’s skin, but it was heaven.

He was only in up to his ankles, of course. Any deeper and he’d start having all kinds of issues he didn’t want to have to explain to Bucky - not that he thought he’d actually have to explain anything, considering the knowing look Bucky had given him before. But it was pure bliss, letting his wounds be licked clean by the flowing water, letting it numb his pain.

He eyed the bag Bucky had thrown down by the side of the stream with contempt. “Remind me again why we didn’t just use one of those back at the house?”

Bucky shrugged, washing his hands in a tiny pool that had formed by the edge of the stream. “If someone sensed us using it, Stane would know. If he thinks we just ran, he’d waste his time looking around here instead of the places they’re all linked to.”

“Oh.” That was actually a good idea. “How much farther before you think it’s safe to use one, then?”

“We could have a few miles back.”

Tony’s look of betrayal mustn’t have been devastating enough, because Bucky simply gave him an apologetic smile at the indignant sound he made. “I wanted a stream. Same thing - if they track us this far, they’ll waste time searching for more footprints up and down stream.”

Tony stared at him. “Have you, by chance, used that tactic before?”

“Several times.”

“So that day I spent walking up and down the stream for hours in a hot suit of magic armour-”

“All for nothing.”

“You’re evil.”

Bucky laughed, short and sharp. “Yeah. Sorry.” He finished washing his hands and cupped them under the water, bringing to his mouth to drink. The magic metal arm didn’t hold the water very well, water streaming through the gaps between its fingers, and the awkward sight at least made Tony feel a little better. He waded to the edge of the stream and collapsed on a rock, tugging the bag close enough to rummage through it.

The waystones looked no different to the last time he’d seen them, if not a little worn in places. Clearly Stane had been getting some good use of them. He sorted through them, evaluating their options.

He’d created them himself, and he’d been the only person who knew how to bind them properly to a specific location - a procedure that required actually being at the physical location you wanted it to lead to. He hadn’t had many opportunities to venture out, five years ago, and when he did it wasn’t for very long. Most of them led to locations only a couple days from Stane’s estate, at most.

Bucky picked one out and handed it to him. Or, well, tried to. “It’ll take us to the border,” Bucky said, brow creasing when he realised Tony had exactly no intention of taking it from him. “Three days walk from there.”

“To Marvel, sure, but I’ve got a friend I’d like to visit on the way.” He brushed away Bucky’s extended arm. “You know, pop in for coffee, catch up on the latest gossip around town.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but getting you home immediately seems to me to be extremely important right now.”

“Yeah, but this guy is closer, and he has showers. You know how desperately I could do with a shower right now? I haven’t smelled this bad in at least two weeks.”

“What the fuck is a shower?”

“I installed them, you’ll like them, they’re great.” He selected and held out a waystone, one that Bucky knew led in the opposite direction to Marvel. “Come on, Buckaroo. Trust me.”

“Nobody trustworthy has ever said that.”

“You’re one to speak.”

Bucky tilted his head to the side. “Fair point.” He gathered the bag and the handful of things they’d brought, and clapped his hand atop the waystone Tony was holding.

Tony triggered it, and they fell.

The world warped around them, and for a moment they were suspended in space, simultaneously stationary and in free-fall as images whirled around them - flashes of distant shores streaking past them like lightning, patterns of light and sound that crashed over them and passed just as quickly as they arrived - until they were slammed to the ground in the middle of a road, outside a quiet tavern.

A drunk man on the porch blinked, blearily, but said nothing, simply taking a long and slow sip of his ale.

“Right,” Tony said, swaying on his feet and reaching for Bucky’s shoulder. “Right then, this is good, now we just need to take the road south until we find the no trespassing sign, and then do some trespassing.” He staggered, tripped, and fell to one knee, trying very hard not to retch. Bucky seemed entirely unaffected, damn him. He pointed a gallant hand down the road - toward North, Bucky noted with a wry smile - and cried “Come, our showers await!”

He tried to get to his feet, and promptly passed out.

* * *

The workshop was eerie when it was abandoned. The usual, half finished projects weren’t littered across workbench surfaces, waiting for an engineer to pick them up and get to work and then put then down again 25 hours later. The light through the windows, too, was wrong - far too bright, almost a pure white, no sign beyond the glass of the rest of the castle walls or the trees he knew scraped their branches across the workshop windows on windy days.

It was like the world outside didn’t exist.

“Steve?”

He turned, surprised to see Tony standing behind him, resplendent even in grease-stained workwear. The faintest smudge of dirt lingered on his chin. He broke into an easy smile, the kind that he’d found always appeared when Tony was nearby to see it - not so much excited or happy as a blissful sense of contentment - like the world was good, and there was nothing to worry about. He didn’t seem to realise what he was doing until his arms were out, wrapping themselves around the engineer’s smaller frame, fitting him perfectly against Steve’s chest in a hug that placed his head at the perfect height to be tucked in under Steve’s chin. He considered letting go, startled at his own forwardness - but he felt a content sigh against the sensitive skin of his collarbone, and a pair of smaller arms wound over his shoulders to hold the back of his neck and bring him down for a kiss.

Steve couldn’t move, he was so trapped in that momentary bliss.

The kiss wasn’t the passionate exploration of each others’ mouths he’d daydreamed of so many times in the past; it was slow, and content, and gentle, peppered with soft smiles and hands through hair, occasional moments where Tony would break away and just stare at him for a moment, brown eyes almost black, almost awestruck as they took him in.

It was a slow and gentle kiss, so Steve knew something was wrong when Tony broke it off with a hiss.

For a moment he followed, chasing those lips, already aching for more, before he registered that Tony’s shoulders were hunching forward, curling up in pain, and he realised there was the tip of a sword protruding from his chest, and oh.

Blood spread quickly, through Tony’s soft workshop clothes.

For the second time in mere minutes Steve was struck dumb, unable to react until Tony slumped forward into him, bringing them both crashing to the ground. He curled himself around Tony - his lover, he thought, with the faint echo of confusion, and looked up.

Sharp teeth drew up in a smile, and the Winter Soldier disappeared, in wisps of smoke.

Tony didn’t move.

Steve rolled them to the side, already cradling the back of Tony’s head, the other hand flying to his lover’s cheek, and Tony’s eyes weren’t wide with desire anymore so much as complete and utter terror. He choked on his breath and stared up at Steve - confused. Accusing.

“You didn’t protect me,” Tony said, his voice small and betrayed. “You didn’t save me.”

“I can’t-” Steve broke off. “I didn’t- There was no warning-”

“You failed,” Tony said, his voice a hoarse whisper. His tongue was bright with blood.

“No, Tony-” He pressed his hands against the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood, but it just seeped through his fingers. His hands were shaking. “We’ll fix this, I promise you, it’s going to be okay-”

Tony’s breath stuttered, catching in his throat. He choked, for a moment, his chest struggling to pull in air - before it gave out, and Tony went still.

“… Tony?”

There were hands on Steve’s shoulders but he threw them off, cupping his hands on the side of Tony’s face, staring into unseeing brown eyes, barely registering that one was soaked with blood. “Tony, wait, hold on a second-”

The hands were back, and he struggled this time, trying to curl himself around his lover, protect him, even though part of him knew there wasn’t any point anymore. He’d only just thrown them off and pulled Tony into his lap when they were back again.

“Steve,” someone called, a soft and soothing sound. Steve snarled, hackles raising. Couldn’t they see Tony was dead? “Steve! Goddamnit, wake up-”

He lashed out in blind panic. They were trying to take him, they were trying to take Tony away again-

His elbow landed a decent blow, and someone fell off his bed.

There was a moment of near-silence, broken only by Steve panting heavily - somehow short of breath in a way he hadn’t felt since before the war, before he earned his powers - and the intruder groaning slightly on the floor next to him. He took a moment to get his bearings. Recognised the crown molding of the ceiling above him, and tried to stop his heart hammering.

“Nightmare,” he said. “That was. Uh.”

“Quite some nightmare,” Sam replied. He was propping himself up on his elbows, wincing, a hand rubbing his ribs. “Wanna talk about it?”

“… No.”

“O-kay.” Sam’s eyes studied him. Steve buried his face in his hands. “Well,” he said, slowly. “Rhodes, Barton and Romanoff were planning to head off to Stane’s estate this morning. I thought you’d wanna see them off.”

Steve was out of bed in seconds, barely waiting long enough to throw on some clothes.

* * *

“Tony.”

Tony sighed, nuzzling into the shoulder under his cheek. “What.”

“I need you to direct me.”

Tony didn’t have the energy to respond, so he just didn’t, sagging against the warm body carrying him. He was tired. He was sore, and the blackness tugging on the edge of his vision was awfully tempting.

“Tony.”

He didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, until whoever was carrying him knelt and let him slip from their back to the ground. He opened his eyes, staring up at the grey early dawn, surprised faintly by the light drizzle of rain.

Bucky’s face faded into view above him, pale and worried, dripping hair tucked behind his ears. Tony tried to smile and pat the prince’s shoulder but found he couldn’t lift his hand.

“ ‘m fine,” he slurred.

“You don’t look fine.”

Tony hummed, noticing with vague interest that Bucky’s eyes were the same icy colour as the sky.

They looked worried.

That wasn’t good.

“You need to tell me where I’m going,” the prince was saying, when Tony was able to concentrate on his lips long enough to understand. “I’ve never heard of this guy before.”

Tony sifted through his thoughts, frustrated by how sluggish they were. “Which guy?”

“Strange.”

“Oh.”

Bucky waited several seconds before tapping Tony’s cheek, concern growing by the second. “Tony, please.”

“He’s in… he’s in a temple. Thing. Gotta find a no trespassin’ sign, which is when you know it’s time to trespass.”

Bucky looked up at a sign naked to a tree that read, in writing painted with a concerning shade of red - NO TRESPASSING. “You told me that part already.”

Tony blinked several times and lifted his head. It took a few worrying moments before his vision cleared up enough to see where they were. “Oh.” He hesitated, trying to hold onto his train of thought but failing miserably. “Well. Uh. Let’s get trespassing then.”

“Which way? There’s no path.”

“He doesn’t believe in paths,” Tony said, a distinct sound of disgust in his voice. “He’s an asshole.”

Bucky sighed, eyeing the woods with suspicion, and gently gathered Tony back into his arms. He braced himself for another ridiculously long walk; sure, he was a super soldier who could withstand incredible abuse, but that didn't mean he wasn't uncomfortable. 

The socket for the metal arm was starting to ache, too.

He pushed that thought aside, taking a careful step forward, beneath the sign above them, and yelped when the ground disappeared beneath them in a ring of golden sparks.

Bucky rolled, the moment he hit the ground, spinning around to make sure Tony was on top of him to cushion the blow. It worked, of course - but then he had to get Tony off him gently enough not to cause injury, but quickly enough to be ready to face their newest threat. He did so, rolling to his feet and sinking into a defensive stance even before Tony had finished slumping to the side.

“See,” Tony groaned. The engineer didn’t bother getting up - he simply threw an arm over his eyes and contemplated sleeping on the carpet. It was comfortable carpet, at least. Nice and plush. “He’s a real dick.”

“I was under the impression you wanted to see me,” a voice answered, arch and self-righteous enough to give Bucky hives. He rested a hand on his blade, looking up to see the backlit figure of a man at the top of the staircase above them. “I just saved you the trip.”

Tony flipped off the air slightly to the left of the figure, not bothering to look.

“You’re Strange?” 

“A pleasure.” The figure nodded toward Bucky and stepped into the light, in a manner far more dramatic than it really should have been; his cloak gave the faint impression of shifting in a non-existent breeze, or floating in a pool of water, and Bucky faintly wondered how much magic he was wasting on something so frivolously cosmetic. “Your highness.”

Bucky nodded, slowly, and the figure bowed his head - if only for a moment. Something told Bucky that that was the most respect he’d ever get out of the man.

The man turned his intense gaze to Tony, then, and the faintest crease of concern flickered across his face. “Stark-”

"Yeah, okay, you can judge me all you want in, like, two or three hours,” Tony said, waving his free hand above his head but still not bothering to sit up. “Once I’ve reacquainted myself with technology and a delightfully hot shower. And if you could shoot off a quick message to someone at Marvel saying that we’re, you know, alive, that would be great. Is that okay with you, oh Sorcerer Supreme?”

Strange’s eyes flickered to Bucky. “Not ‘us’,” Bucky mouthed. “Just him.”

Strange smirked. “If needs must,” he said. “My showers are at your disposal.”

“Thank fucking Christ.”

Tony finally sat up.

* * *

Being king was exhausting - not so much because there was so much to do as it was because of his inability to do much of anything in the field. His people went out to guard, to spy, to fight to make a difference, all while Steve was left at the castle overseeing the country’s affairs and looking pretty for the populace. He watched Rhodey swing up atop his horse, his sword swinging from his belt, and found he longed to climb atop a horse of his own and go with them on this deranged, hare-brained rescue mission. Never mind the danger - never mind the fact that it was right on Hydra’s borders, and his intervention could very well trigger an international incident.

It was bad enough sending a pair of spies there.

The morning hadn’t yet risen; only the faintest grey on the eastern horizon hinted at the coming sunrise, but the courtyard was quietly alive with guards and military personnel - and a handful of people Steve recognised from the city below.

The kid holding Rhodey’s reins seemed familiar too, though he ducked out of the way the moment Clint - digging through a bag of supplies with a frown - emerged from the castle's grand doors.

Steve wanted to be the one to go with them, and fight, and free Tony. To bring him home, safe and sound, to protect him, to confess-

But he couldn’t.

Natasha was beside him, looking at him expectantly, as though she expected him to do or say something, and he wanted to say something important - if only so it would mean he’d done something - but came up short. His love was meant to be a secret. There was nothing he could say.

“Bring him home,” he said, looking away toward the gate the small party would shortly travel through, toward the rising sun, but not before catching the slightly knowing look in Natasha’s eyes. “Soon. I- We miss him.”

He broke off.

Under the archway, on the cobble road leading into the courtyard, stood another Clint.

He was carrying a bow that resembled those from the firing range rather than his own. He was dressed in simple clothing, more like peasant’s gear than his normal leather armour, and he was covered in blue and purple bruises that hurt to just look at them.

He was cradling a vicious-looking wound in his side, too.

Steve glanced to the side. The real Clint was still digging through his bag of supplies, scowling about something.

The Clint under the gate drew an arrow.

“STOP,” Steve called, stepping forward, swinging the shield from his back and resting a hand on the pommel of his sword.

He didn’t have to glance to the side to know Natasha was already armed. The Clint behind them froze, his mumbled cursing breaking off into nothing.

“He caught me while I was tracking a Chitauri,” the impostor rasped. He carefully nocked it and prepared to raise his bow. “In the forest, a few miles north from here.”

Clint - the real one, and Steve was quickly realising he’d need to have a different name for each of them to keep himself on top of things, because he was tired - slowly raised his hands and stepped back. “Look, man, I get that you’re a fan-”

The bow was raised, slowly enough to broadcast Fake Clint’s movements, until he was glaring down the length of the arrow, calculating his shot. “He’s a shape shifter,” Fake Clint said, eyes narrowed in concentration. His voice was hoarse, but didn’t waver. “Green skin. Black hair. The asshole caught me while I was tracing where the Chitauri came from.”

Real Clint giggled, the sound oddly high pitched and unusually nervous. “I really don’t think there’s any need for this-”

A knife stopped him - its point pressed uncomfortably close to his jugular, Natasha’s arm wrapped around his neck from behind. Her eyes flicked between the two of them, assessing, trying to read the situation. “Move a muscle, either of you, and you’ll regret it.”

The Clint with a knife to his throat froze. The other narrowed his eyes and stilled. For a long moment they all stood like that, frozen, nobody quite daring to breathe. Then, the Fake Clint spoke.

“Budapest,” he said.

And barely a moment later, he loosed his arrow.

Steve’s reflexes were impossibly fast - he knew that well. He’d tackled the other Clint the barest instant after the arrow had been let free. So when the arrow still managed to pierce its target’s throat, even through Steve’s rough attempt to get him to the ground, Steve knew.

Natasha had understood far before he did, though. Whether it was what the other Clint said - what the hell was a Budapest? - or the fact that the real Clint was the only person in the world stupid enough to ignore her direct orders, Steve would never know. He knew only that as soon as he had the no-longer-Real-Clint on the ground, Natasha’s blade was embedded in his chest, directly through the heart.

The creature’s disguise slipped, enough to show the barest flicker of green, and that was enough to center their suspicion. Natasha withdrew the blade, ready to sink it again, but before she could arc it down the creature shuddered, and choked, and died - his skin slipping to a sickening green tinge, his hair suddenly longer, black as ink.

There was a crash of glass breaking, and then silence.

“Honestly,” Clint groaned, rolling slightly on his chest so he could actually lift his head. Sam, apparently, had understood the situation far later than the rest of them, and had tackled Clint to the ground to pin him under a knee. “I’m insulted. That guy wasn’t anywhere near as charming as I am.”

“Charming.” Natasha said, deadpan. “Sure. That’s what I’d call it. Very charming. I knew there was something wrong when you stopped being so fucking annoying.”

Steve looked up, gaze sweeping the courtyard for other threats, but he found nothing more than a pair of startled maids, some guards who were running to help, and - across the courtyard - Bruce, sinking to the ground, his face looking distinctly green.

Beside him was a large, broken bottle of the green slush Steve had become very familiar with over the first few weeks.

Steve didn’t want to waste time comforting the scientist - not when they’d literally just killed a spy - but something about Bruce’s expression seemed less like the panic of a bystander seeing their first death and more like deep, consuming regret. Besides, the guards were flooding into the courtyard. He narrowed his eyes, faintly aware of the ‘Fake’ Clint aiming a solid kick at the dead creature’s chest.

“I told him something,” Bruce explained as Steve drew closer, eyes wide and desperate. “Steve. Your highness- I told him about the tesseract. I told him how to shut it down.”

Steve paused. “Told who?”

Bruce nodded toward the body. Natasha was looking at them, eyebrows drawn together in concern; she left Clint to his emphatic abuse of the corpse to join them.

“… Well… he’s dead now. So not a problem?”

“Not a problem!? Your highness, they didn’t know how to make the thing work. I told him how to shut it down. If that… if that thing got that info back to Hydra, they would be able to backward engineer it. They would know how to work it. All it would take is him sending a single message to his superiors and they’d know-”

Bruce broke off, and for a moment Steve was overcome with alarm as he noticed a flicker of green in his face, too. But the scientist breathed deeply, and buried his face in his hands, and Steve distantly blamed it on a trick of the morning light.

Besides - he was more preoccupied with Natasha’s faint look of concern, which, honestly, was her equivalent of shaking with fear.

“Do we know where he’s been?” Steve said, his voice sounding rather more distant than he remembered it being before. “Have we… Do we have any tracks of where he’s been?”

“He dropped off the Chitauri at the Watch,” Carol said, and Steve startled. When she’d arrived he had no idea - though he really should have expected people to investigate the commotion. “Then left, right away. Said he was going to follow its tracks, see if there were any more. That’s the last I heard from him.”

“When did he get back?”

“I didn’t know he was back until an hour or so ago.” Natasha offered. Carol shook her head.

All eyes drifted to Bruce.

“I spoke to him last night,” he muttered. “Only a few hours ago.”

Steve glanced around at their little circle. “So it’s possible he didn’t have the chance. Right?”

Bruce shook his head and let his face fall into his hands once more, and Steve felt a rush of bile rising in the back of his throat, because message spells existed. They weren’t even particularly hard.

Hydra was running rings around them. Steve had a responsibility to his people - to Bucky’s people - a responsibility to protect them at all costs. He’d taken on the role of King because the people had said nobody else was capable of protecting his people the way he did, but he was failing them.

There was a chance they’d just made their worst mistake yet.

“Is this a bad time?”

At the stranger’s voice Steve turned, letting his cover slip for a moment, running a frustrated hand through his hair, and ran immediately into a highly decorative upholstered chair. Or would have, if his hand didn’t pass directly through it.

Its occupant raised his eyebrows, looking around with interest at the green-skinned creature on the floor. “My apologies if it is.”

“Strange.”

The man shot Natasha a winning smile as Steve stepped back, glancing between the two of them in confusion. “I would say ‘In the flesh’, Miss Romanoff, but as you can see, that would be a lie.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, eyeing the man in the chair. He knew the name, but had never seen the man’s face. “I’ve had a very bad day.”

“So I see. Skrulls-” he pointed at the creature on the ground. “Skrulls tend to ruin things.”

“Can I… help you? We’re, uh, a little busy.”

“Oh, it shouldn’t take long. I’ve got one of yours, and was really rather hoping I could return it.”

“One of my what?”

“Your people. Actually-”

The spectre leaned backward and looked off into nowhere, as though leaning through an invisible doorway to check on something in the next room. “Actually, I think I have two of them.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Look, they turned up on my doorstep. I’m just trying to do the right thing and return them to their owners before they infest my temple with fleas. Stark especially -”

Steve jolted. “Stark!?”

Strange somehow managed to look both startled and bored at once. “Short, cocky asshole? Honestly, I don’t see what you see in him. He’s cleared my kitchen of coffee already-”

“He’s okay!?”

“Oh, gosh, no.” Strange raised his eyebrows and took a calm sip from a teacup Steve had only just noticed. His pinkie was daintily extended. “You really should take better care of your pets.”

It was too much. The stress had built around him, strangled him, crushed him for so long, and the release that came with knowing Tony was at least out of enemy hands was overwhelming. He sank to his knees, canting off to one side. “I need to see him.”

“You really don’t. He looks horrendous. Even so, I’d project him for you, but his soul and body are oddly fused. I’ve never seen it before. Your doing?”

Rhodey’s hand on Steve’s shoulder would have looked supportive to anybody looking on, but Steve could feel the trembling, the way the hand gripped far too tight. “We’ll come. Now. Where are you?”

“Oh, no need. I’ll return them in the morning, as soon as Stark is stable-”

“-Stable!? What’s wrong with him?”

“Well the torture is mostly reversible. The poisoning’s the tricky bit, but your chemist’s antidote is exceptional.”

“Our… Bruce? Poison?”

Strange nodded, lifting the teacup to his lips again as he sought out Bruce in the small crowd that’d gathered. “Banner, yes. I’m intrigued - honestly, Stark should have been dead months ago, if it weren’t for that tincture he invented. I’d like to borrow him, actually, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“He’s been POISONED?”

Strange actually looked surprised. “You mean you don’t know?”

“How the hell has he been poisoned!? Was it- is someone doing it to him?”

“This seems like the type of conversation you should really be having with him, your majesty. Look, I’ll send them through a portal tomorrow and you’ll get them all bundled up safe and warm, and I’ll finally have some peace. This is just a courtesy call to let you know.” He paused. “And to ask where you’d like them delivered.”

“The castle would be fine,” Steve said, the words faint. He felt almost like he wasn’t entirely there.

The spectre rolled its eyes. “I was hoping for a specific location, but that will do. Good afternoon.”

And then the spectre was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw: I know _nothing_ about Ravenous; I needed a Hydra controlled city so I did a cheeky google and went from there. Please let me know if that's gonna backfire hilariously on me so I can work on making it _even funnier_. 
> 
> [My tumblr is here.](https://valenixfix.tumblr.com/)  
>  (Thanks to my amazing betas Dragonlover44 and HadesPuppy for being so helpful and patient!)


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooo, boy. My chapters just keep getting longer and longer. By the time we get to the end of this I'll be writing entire novels for each one. 
> 
> Heads up, btw. Lots of emotions ahead.

The rooms Strange had provided them were simple but comfortable, equipped with thick woollen blankets, generous pillows, and soft mattresses that cradled rather than merely supported you. They weren’t of the kind usually offered to a king, but they were the epitome and decadence for someone who had spent the past five years as a human weapon.   
  
Bucky hated them.   
  
He lay on the floor, in the centre of the room, staring up at the ceiling with a frown. The rug he had shoved aside, the pillows discarded across the room in place of Bucky’s own jacket rolled up beneath his head.   
  
He was warm. He was safe. He was tired.   
  
He couldn’t sleep.   
  
He rolled over again, staring at the wall behind the comfortable bed in frustration.   
  
It was mostly the arm, he thought. It had always caused him pain, but he’d been the Winter Soldier; calm and apathetic, capable of continuing on despite the deep throb of agony it gave him. Now that he was back and in control the pain was nearly unbearable.    
  
He gave up, and got up, and went to find the Engineer.   
  
Stark wasn’t in the bedroom Bucky had seen him enter earlier in the night, and he tamped down a faint rush of concern.  A quick search of that floor ended up empty - though he found a rudimentary screwdriver in what appeared to be a broom closet - and his brief stalk through the kitchen and various other rooms downstairs led to nothing. Nothing, that is, until he found light flickering in an ajar doorway down the hall. Bucky paced toward it, his footsteps silent on the ancient wooden floorboards.   
  
“It’s killing you.”   
  
Bucky froze.   
  
Strange’s voice was soft and low, nothing like the sarcastic tone he’d had before.   
  
“Yeah,” Tony’s voice replied. It sounded resigned. “It is.”   
  
“And you still won’t do anything about it?”   
  
“Definitely not what you’re proposing.”   
  
Bucky eased closer, barely breathing, until he could see inside.   
  
It was a library, if the bookcases and piles of books scattered between them were any indication. Tony was slumped in a wingback chair beside a fire, eyes closed, head tilted back to lean heavily against the headrest. He cracked an eye open when Strange set a goblet in his hand, and reluctantly contemplated its contents.   
  
“There’s no other solution,” Strange said, sinking into the opposite chair with languid grace. “And you are quickly running out of time.”   
  
“There’s no way I’m going to burden someone else,” Tony sighed, and it occurred to Bucky that this was a discussion that had been going for hours, judging by the bitter impatience in his voice. “It could kill them too, or it could seriously harm them, or they’ll be cast out, or- or worse, they use it to deliberately harm other people. Those risks are unacceptable.”   
  
“You could theoretically spread small amounts to a large group of people-”   
  
“Oh, yeah, that’ll go down well. I’ll have dozens of people ready and willing to help someone with an unconscionable amount of magic at their disposal.”   
  
“I could take it for you.”   
  
Tony scoffed, and held the empty goblet up in a half hearted toast. “I trust you about half as far as I can throw you.”   
  
“Which, to be fair, is a considerable distance.”   
  
“Not right now it isn’t.”   
  
Strange’s attempt at a pleasant smile dropped away with a stifled cough. “No, I don’t suppose it is.”   
  
Tony idly inspected the goblet, apparently fascinated by the design around the rim - something too gaudy and elaborate for Bucky’s taste - and hummed. “How long, do you think?”   
  
Strange said nothing, initially; he studied Tony’s face, studied his posture, a thoughtful look of concern on his face. Tony let his hand fall, let the goblet dangle from his fingertips over the side of the chair beside him, and after a few seconds looked up. His expression was a challenge, a dare, but Bucky wasn’t sure what exactly it was trying to say.   
  
“A couple weeks,” Strange said, finally. “Maybe three. Depending on what you do.”   
  
Tony nodded.   
  
“That doesn’t surprise you?”   
  
“No,” Tony said, his voice hollow. “No, it really doesn’t.”   
  
“What are you going to do?”   
  
Tony stared at the fire for a long time, silent, frowning, and Bucky took the opportunity to move a little closer again. Strange’s eyes glanced up to meet Bucky’s directly through the crack in the door. He quirked an eyebrow but looked away again, apparently unconcerned.   
  
Bucky was just about to back away, already feeling guilty, when Tony spoke up again. “I’m going to protect him, while I still can.”   
  
“Who?”   
  
Tony gave the Sorcerer Supreme a withering glance. “Guess.”   
  
Strange stared at him a moment. “You love him.”   
  
Tony let himself slide a little lower in the chair, eyes half lidded and sad as he stared into the fire. “Yes,” he said, in a voice low and soft enough that Bucky could barely hear it over the fire.   
  
“And he doesn’t love you?”   
  
Tony chuckled, a sour smile on his face. “He deserves far more than a mass murderer with scars and an impending expiry date.”   
  
“He doesn’t know?”   
  
“He will never know.”   
  
“But what if he loves you back?”   
  
Tony seemed to contemplate it for a moment, rocking the goblet on the floor with a single finger on its rim.  “He will move on, and be better off in the end.”   
  
“And what about the people you swear to protect? You don’t think they need you?”   
  
Tony hesitated for a moment. “I had hoped we could strike a deal, about that.”   
  
“A favour?”   
  
“Three, actually.” He coughed, a sick sound, and a hand came up to rest over his heart.   
  
Strange leaned against the arm of his chair, watching him. “What’s in it for me?”   
  
Tony rapped his knuckles against his chest. Strange’s eyes sharpened; he sat a little straighter, obviously interested. “You would refuse to transfer your power to me, but you’d let me have that?”   
  
“With conditions.” He held out a hand, as though to mime shaking hands, and Strange nodded, sinking into his chair, glancing at the eavesdropper at the door as he did so. “They are?”   
  
“One. You protect Marvel. You offer your services to the King and do what you can to help the people there.”   
  
Strange nodded, apparently unsurprised. “I already do, you know. It’s just that my offer has traditionally been refused.”   
  
“I know.” Tony sighed. “But I need your word that you’ll continue, even if St- even if the king doesn’t trust you, which we both know he won’t.”   
  
Strange nodded, serious. “Second?”   
  
“You hide the tesseract in the most secure place you know.”   
  
Strange’s eyes narrowed. “There are very few places I know of that could keep it safe.”   
  
“I struggle to think of anybody who would have better options than yourself.”   
  
“You don’t think I’d try to use it?”   
  
“Oh, I think you’ll try, but I think we both know it’s only ever going to cause chaos and destruction. I so very rarely see you use that gaudy necklace you’ve got there. I think you’re smart enough to avoid using the raw power of the tesseract. Besides-” he made the hand-shaking gesture again, “-An agreement is difficult to break, even for you.”   
  
Strange nodded, slightly, his fingers automatically coming up to touch the front of the glowing green gem he wore. He plucked his own goblet from the small coffee table between them and took a sip. “Third?”   
  
“You exonerate the crown prince.”   
  
Bucky started, and Strange glanced in his direction again. “And how do you suppose I do that?”   
  
“Remove the last of the spell that kept him under control, build defences against it happening again.”   
  
“You asked me to exonerate him, not protect him.”   
  
Tony smiled, slightly. “Four favours, then?”   
  
“You want me to prove to the public that he’s innocent?”   
  
Tony shrugged. “He is.”   
  
“That’s debatable.”   
  
Tony’s glare could have set a blaze, but Strange spread his hands. “I only mean to say that the people - the judge - will likely question that. His body was certainly involved, even if his mind was not. How exactly do you expect me to convince them that he’s innocent?”   
  
“I haven’t figured that bit out just yet,” Tony said, reluctantly. “It’s a work in progress.”   
  
“You want me to argue that he was possessed?”   
  
“Something along those lines. Or a body double. I’m not entirely sure which.” Tony finally seemed to gather his willpower and threw back the mixture in his goblet. He grimaced. “God, at least Bruce tries to disguise the taste.”   
  
“Sorry,” Strange said, in a tone that expressly spoke of how sorry he definitely was not. He leaned forward, eyes narrow, and extended a hand. “I accept.”   
  
Tony returned the handshake, and for a moment their joined hands glowed with the same blue-white glow Bucky had seen coming from the thing in Tony’s chest. Then it was over, and they broke apart, settling back into their respective chairs.    
  
Strange looked him over, slowly, as though examining some kind of hidden web, or a particularly interesting book. “How did you do it, per chance?”   
  
Tony frowned, examining the inside of the goblet. He sniffed the dregs, and wrinkled his nose. “Do what?”   
  
Strange leaned forward, studying Tony in a way that resembled a scholar engrossed in a particularly interesting book. “Your soul has been bound.”   
  
“Ah,” Tony said, putting the goblet down. “That.”   
  
“It was unintentional?”   
  
“I don’t know, exactly. It wasn’t me who did it.”   
  
“So who did…?”   
  
Tony sighed. “He’s dead, Strange. I have no idea how he did it - only that he did, and it saved my life.”   
  
Strange hummed, but didn’t say anything more. Bucky took the chance to slip away.   
  
Later that night, Tony returned to his guest room to find Bucky sitting on his bed, armoured arm cradled in his lap.    
  
He didn’t think anything of it, really. He quietly nodded when Bucky haltingly explained his predicament. Calmly dug through the mechanics of the arm's connection with a makeshift screwdriver Bucky produced. Politely ignored the panic attack the prince was clearly experiencing.   
  
It was no use, though. He sighed and let the hand with the screwdriver fall to his lap. “I can fix this,” he said, suppressing a yawn. “But I’ll need my tools. I’ve disconnected it for now, so it won’t work, but-” he shrugged. “You won’t be in pain.”   
  
Bucky was silent, for a long moment. He debated his next words carefully, watching Tony put the screwdriver on the nightstand and walk into the bathroom to wash the axle grease from his fingers.   
  
“I’m not going back, Stark.”   
  
Tony turned off the tap, carefully watching Bucky’s expression. He wiped his hands on a towel, the last of the grease leaving lines of black across its surface. “Of course you’re coming back.”   
  
Bucky shook his head, falling back onto the bed. He was surprised at how sleepy he was, suddenly, now that the artificial arm was totally numb. “I can’t do that to the people. I just… can’t.”   
  
Tony didn’t say anything, simply padded his way into the room again. Bucky heard him sigh, felt the bed shift as Tony sat next to him. When he glanced up, it was to see Tony slouched, staring at his hands in his lap.   
  
“It broke him, when you died.”   
  
Bucky tensed. Tony didn’t pause.   
  
“He didn’t want the crown. He didn’t want to take that from you.”   
  
“I-” Bucky hesitated, warring with himself. “Is he… okay?”   
  
“With being king? I think he likes knowing he’s in control, that he can try to protect everyone, but… He hates the attention. The spectacle.”   
  
“He always did.”   
  
“It would mean the world to him, if you came back.”   
  
“I can’t.”   
  
“You can,” Tony insisted, getting irritated now. “What’s stopping you?”   
  
“I killed hundreds, Tony. Hundreds of innocent people-”   
  
“That wasn’t you!”   
  
“Oh yes, I’m sure the people would be okay with that.” Bucky hissed. “An easily controlled king is not one the people deserve.”   
  
Tony turned to look at him and glared. “I broke the spell once. We can protect you from it happening again.”   
  
“Look,” Bucky sighed. He covered his eyes with his arm. “I know you’re powerful, but I also know that very few people know that. What are you gonna do, out yourself to the entire country so you can prove to them that I’m protected?”   
  
Yes, thought Tony.   
  
“No,” Bucky continued, oblivious. “It’s better if I- If I get you home, and maybe get a couple things, and leave.”   
  
“Steve wouldn’t let you.”   
  
Bucky’s face was miserable for a moment. “He won’t know.”   
  
They were both silent for a moment. Finally, Tony sighed. “We can discuss this when we get back home. After I’ve fixed your arm. I won’t stop you doing what you need to do, but…” He looked away. “Just come back. For a little while. I have a guest room you can hide in, until you get back on your feet.”   
  
Bucky reveled in the rush of relief. “Thank you,” he breathed, sitting up with a sigh. “Thank you, Stark.”   
  
Tony sniffed, dismissive. “Fine. But I will have you know, Barnes, that we are friends now. I don’t care what you say. You. Me.” He pointed at Bucky, eyes narrowed. “Friends.”   
  
It startled a chuckle out of the prince. “Friends,” he agreed. “Okay, Tony.”

* * *

There was something accusatory about the open mouth of the forge, devoid of fire and light, even with the hidden stone at the back replaced. It stared back at him, a monster with a gaping maw, crouched and ready to swallow him whole. The monster inside of him might eat it back, he thought, wildly grasping for a train of thought that didn’t end in his own blind fury and the destruction of every piece of safety he’d built around him here.   
  
You managed that just fine on your own, Bruce thought, and winced at the answering flare of anger - whether at himself, or in his own defence, he didn’t know.   
  
Maybe a mixture of both.   
  
The monster inside of him growled and paced, so Bruce paced too, if only to appease it long enough for him to figure out exactly what to do. Back and forth, from one end of the workshop to the other - broken only when he crossed the front of the forge and his eyes were drawn back to the one brick that had started this whole disaster.   
  
The monster stirred, but Bruce pushed it away, and resumed his pacing.   
  
Back and forth. Back and forth.   
  
He could get out, of course. Leave the city, find a place far enough from civilisation that he could be sure his anger wouldn’t come out. Maybe he’d let the creature out for a bit, let it let off some steam on an empty forest for a while.   
  
Maybe the creature would finally get itself killed - and Bruce with it.   
  
He stared at the forge, brought once more to stillness by the thought. It stared back at him from the other end of the room, accusatory. I would probably deserve it, he thought, and the monster in the back of his mind lifted its head. For betraying Tony, for endangering the entire kingdom-   
  
With a resounding pop, two people crashed to the floor in front of him.   
  
For a long moment Bruce could only stare, faintly aware that he was still hunched with his arms across his chest, until he realised exactly what he was looking at. He faintly registered a gleeful yell from out in the courtyard.    
  
Tony blinked up at him, dazed slightly, before breaking into a grin. “Brucie bear!”   
  
“I-” Bruce stepped backward, unsure how to proceed. “Tony, you’re… Back.”   
  
“Honestly thought you’d be a little more excited to see me,” Tony said, grin still firmly in place. The other person was somehow already upright, facing away from Bruce, but Tony snagged one of their legs in an iron grip without even looking. He splayed the other hand over his heart, expression melting into mocking mournfulness. “Hurtful.”   
  
The other guy was trying to pull his leg away, still hiding his face, but Tony hung on, using the other person as a crutch as he slowly climbed to his feet. He stood, brushed himself off, and examined the ridiculous shirt Strange had loaned him with a sigh. “I get it,” he started, “You just don’t recognise me because I’m not quite as devilishly handsome-”   
  
Bruce hugged him, hiding his face in his shoulder.   
  
Tony winced, flinched, and lapsed into silence, simply patting his friend’s shoulder, until Bruce finally let go. He didn’t ask - Tony’s grimace was enough - before he started to take in what was actually in front of him.   
  
Tony had - scars. New ones. Not entirely healed ones. There was a circular one on his neck that resembled a cigar burn, and a faint pattern of black lines slowly climbing to the base of his neck.   
  
The Monster was interested, too.   
  
“They’re gonna be fine,” Tony said, carefully, holding up his hands, and after a moment Bruce realised he was talking about the scars. He looked up to meet Tony’s eyes but he registered the bruise on Tony’s jaw, and a fading black eye, and couldn’t think of anything else. “They’re gonna go away. Strange patched me up really well, Bruce. Look at me-”   
  
Bruce was beyond looking at him. He spotted a cut just slightly above Tony’s hairline, and tried to control his breathing.   
  
In.   
  
Out.   
  
In.   
  
He felt hands on his shoulders and shrugged them off with a snarl.   
  
“-Okay, that’s pretty cool. You know, Bruce, I’m faintly insulted that you didn’t tell me about how fucking awesome you are-”   
  
“Tony,” the stranger hissed. “We need to calm him down now.”   
  
“What, why?”   
  
Bucky, incredulous, gestured at the hulking green monster that was quickly bubbling out from what used to be a slightly anxious, harmless scientist. Apparently he considered this evidence enough.   
  
Bruce - or the monster, really, because he had long since slipped on his control - didn’t respond. He was too lost in the rage at Tony’s attacker, and rage at himself, because this was his fault, he didn’t protect Tony well enough, he let his friend be almost killed, and-   
  
-Tony’s arms wrapped around his neck in a crushing hug. “Hey, Brucie bear, remember that one time I made The Toaster and it burned my lab coat because I wouldn’t give it enough attention?”   
  
The monster paused, confused. It registered Bucky - who didn’t look like a stranger, somehow - hovering to the side, expression a strange mix of fearful and embarrassed and watchful. A hand on his cheek forced him to look back at Tony’s slightly manic grin.   
  
“Or, or, uh, what about time Clint tried to steal the arrows I hadn’t finished and he accidentally bumped your experiment and ended up with no eyebrows for a month? That was fun. That was a good day.”   
  
There was a pause, while a green hand reached to stroke the side of Tony’s face with a single, massive finger. “Small Tony okay?”   
  
“Yeah, buddy,” Tony said, his anxious tension fading, his manic grin melting away into something a little more organic. He graciously ignored the ‘small’ comment. “Bruce is gonna patch me right up and I’ll be right as rain. Here-” he pulled apart the top few buttons of his shirt - he was positive Strange had been fucking with him when he claimed this was his ‘only’ spare, because there was no way the dick could have resisted making him wear ruffles - and pulled it down so the glowing crystal above his heart could be seen.   
  
He took the monster’s hand and laid it gently atop his heart.   
  
From an outsider’s perspective he probably looked smooth and confident, but his throat was tight, his mouth dry, hands gently trembling. He’d only ever let Bruce touch the thing, and then only because he'd had no other choice. He’d been delirious and in pain and desperate at the time, and Bruce had been a calm island in the storm.   
  
He’d woken up to find the lab trashed, he remembered. Now, he understood why.   
  
He squeezed both his trembling hands around the giant green one he’d pressed against the only thing keeping him alive, and somehow managed a smile. “See? It’s still humming away, like usual. Just like Bruce remembers. I’m all good.”   
  
The monster frowned in concentration. It could pick up the faint vibration, the feeling of warmth and strange power that leaked from the too-bright circle. It smiled - and with a pop, Bruce was standing there instead, quite naked, surrounded by shredded clothing that hung off him in rags.   
  
He pulled Tony into a bear hug and clung to him. “Don’t do that again,” Bruce said, and promptly passed out.   
  
Tony stared down at him, eyebrows raised. “That was… unexpected.”   
  
“… So, what’s this about a jealous toaster?”   
  
Tony grinned at Bucky, who had apparently decided to stay, at least for the moment. He adjusted Bruce in his arms. “Of course that’s what you pick up on. Yes, I made a sentient toaster. Yes, it happened to be jealous, but the important thing here is that it was sentient, which is very much a key milestone in engineering and scientific development, and I honestly don’t understand why people don’t see what a breakthrough it truly was and insist on calling it ‘cute’.”   
  
“What the hell is a toaster anyway?”   
  
Tony paused. He didn’t really know what to say to that. “It’s inspired, is what it is. I swear it came to me in a dream, like a vision of another universe-”   
  
The door crashed open and Thor strode in, regal and brash and apparently oblivious to the fact that an unconscious Bruce was practically naked and unconscious in Tony’s arms. “STARK!” he bellowed, advancing upon him, arms wide. “I sensed your arrival! I am glad to see you have returned!”   
  
“Right back at you, big guy; I’m glad to be ba-” Thor swept him and Bruce up in a hug that crushed their ribcages together, and Tony’s speech melted into a faint squeak and a gasp for air.   
  
“And you!” Thor said, his gaze trapping Bucky where he stood before he could turn away, even as Tony desperately gasped for breath and clapped a hand repeatedly on his shoulder. “It is good to see you have returned, my friend! You have been gravely missed.”   
  
“I’m not here,” Bucky said, hands held aloft. “You never saw me.”   
  
Thor chuckled. “We shall drink together later, and discuss what we have and have not seen. For now-” he deposited Tony atop the workbench, where he clutched and his ribs and wheezed, the still barely conscious Banner he gently guided to the couch at the back of the room. “Friend Banner! Let’s get you into some clothes.”   
  
Tony watched him, glad to see that Thor had finally gotten a grasp on the idea that nudity in public was something most people didn’t enjoy. As he buttoned up the shirt he felt Bucky’s hovering presence at his shoulder, and he turned to continue his explanation of his genius, but his attention was torn away when someone frantically called Thor’s name, sprinting down the hallway.   
  
Steve skidded to a stop outside the door.   
  
Everything seemed to freeze. In the back of the room Thor was gently guiding Bruce’s arms through the arms of a lab coat, but even he looked up with faint apprehension.   
  
“Tony,” Steve breathed.   
  
Tony gave a slight wave. Bucky turned away, suddenly very interested in the view of the courtyard through the window behind him. “Miss me?” Tony asked, pulling on his usual mask of careless joviality. He set his hands on either side of his knees, his legs idly swinging off the side of the workbench.   
  
“Yes,” Steve said, and then he marched forward and kissed him.   
  
It wasn’t exactly what either of them had pictured their first kiss would be like; Tony had always favoured the idea of action and drama, of saving the day and being rewarded with a kiss for his valour and selflessness. Steve had imagined it quiet, and reserved, something for just the two of them to share. It was a strange compromise, that Steve would slip into the space between Tony’s knees, that he would reach up and tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Tony’s neck, and pull him down into a kiss that was rushed, and awkward, and perfect.   
  
Tony’s mind, for once, ground to a halt.   
  
Steve pulled back, a second later, and Tony vaguely registered that Bucky had slipped through the door into the workshop’s supply room.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Steve said. Tony could see him fracturing slightly, trying to pull himself together even as red flooded his cheeks. Tony stared at him, dazed. “I’m sorry, uh, just pretend that never happened-”   
  
Tony grabbed his lapels and tugged him back against his chest, pulled him upward, and kissed him back.   
  
“Aha,” Thor whispered - which was still somewhere near equivalent to the volume of any normal person speaking normally. “The Lady Natasha owes me a considerable amount of gold.”   
  
Bruce, barely conscious, elbowed him, hiding a smile.   
  
At some point - Steve didn’t know exactly when - Tony had taken control, had buried a hand in his hair and tilted his head just so, and the kiss went from sloppy and rushed to breathtaking. He ran out of air at some point, but that was okay - he pressed a line of feather-light kisses down the edge of Tony’s jaw instead, delighting in the way Tony arched his neck to give him better access, at the way he shivered when Steve’s hands ran from his knees to his hips, to the small of his back, to his ches-   
  
Tony, abruptly, pulled away.   
  
They blinked at each other, for a moment, both dazed and ruffled, while they caught their breath. “Your highness,” Tony started, before he realised he didn’t know exactly what to say. “Steve, I-”   
  
“I love you,” Steve said, face set in an expression of pure determination that Tony recognised from war negotiations and ruthless decisions in the court. “I’m in love with you. Have been for months - years. I can’t let you go.”   
  
“I, uh, wow,” Tony said, still struck dumb. He shook his head, trying to kick his head back into gear. “I’m very flattered, but this is a very emotional situation and maybe if you-”   
  
Steve cut him off with another kiss, and Tony melted. He pulled Steve closer, fitting his knees on either side of Steve’s hips, revelling in the fact that he was just slightly taller from his perch on the workbench. He tried to pull back again, but found himself dipping in for another kiss, and another, and another-   
  
“I love you,” Steve said, lips ghosting over his jaw, and Tony was glad he’d taken the time to shave at Strange’s place, if only so he could feel Steve’s lips. “And I thought… I thought you were gone, that I would never see you again-” Steve pressed his face into Tony’s neck, and Tony’s ribs protested at yet another too-tight hug. “Don’t do that again.”   
  
“Okay, well, here I am,” Tony started, faintly perplexed, shivering when Steve stirred and pressed kisses to his pulse point. “I’m not going anywhere, so you don’t have to-”   
  
Steve pulled away, frowning. For a moment Tony didn’t understand why, until Steve’s thumb grazed over the side of his neck.   
  
“Shit,” Tony muttered.   
  
“What is that?”   
  
“Nothing to worry about,” Tony said, grasping for straws. He should have thrown the glamour up earlier, shouldn’t have left the lines visible at all. “They’re nothing, really-”   
  
Steve frowned, and another stroke of his thumb pulled back the collar of Tony’s shirt, revealing more black spiderwebs, thicker and darker than he’d ever seen them before. “They don’t look like nothing,” he said. He glanced up, assessing. “What are they, Tony?”   
  
Tony cleared his throat, casting about for something to say, but Bruce saved him, pushing Steve aside to put a beaker in Tony’s hand.   
  
Tony took it, and swallowed it down, and didn’t meet Steve’s eyes.   
  
“And what the hell is that?” Steve pressed, feeling disarmed. “You keep drinking that. Bruce broke a bottle full of it yesterday.”   
  
“It’s an antidote,” Bruce supplied, mildly, taking the empty beaker and washing it. He offered a small smile. Faintly, Steve realised he wasn't wearing any pants under his lab coat. “Just something to keep him healthy.”   
  
“An antidote to what?”   
  
“Steve-”   
  
“Strange mentioned poisoning,” Steve said, voice faint. “Tony. Please.”   
  
Tony still wouldn’t meet his eyes, but Steve could see him fidgeting a little; his heel bouncing against the bench he was sitting on, his fingers tabbing on its surface. “Technically true,” he said, finally. Reluctantly.   
  
“Is this why you’ve been so sick recently?”   
  
Tony aimed an accusatory glare at Bruce, who shrugged, drying the beaker methodically. “Not me,” he said with a soft smile. “I didn’t tell a soul. Anyone can see you’ve not been yourself, lately.”   
  
“I’ve been acting perfectly normally,” Tony said, and immediately realised he should shut up.   
  
“Why did nobody tell me about this?”   
  
“Ever heard of patient confidentiality, Cap?” Tony bit out, the nickname from Steve’s old station slipping out before he could stop it.   
  
“I’m the king! I need to know when people I- one of my subjects is being poisoned! Who is it!?”   
  
Tony opened his mouth, no doubt about to unleash hell, because that’s what Tony did when he felt trapped, but Bruce cut him off. “Hydra,” he said, as Thor moved to Tony’s elbow. “We think it’s Hydra, and you were already doing everything you could to find them. We didn’t want to worry you.”   
  
Steve fumed. “How am I meant to protect the city if everyone is keeping secrets from me?”   
  
Thor and Bruce flinched, but Tony only got angrier. “I don’t need protecting!” Tony protested. “I’m perfectly fine!”   
  
“You were kidnapped! And you’re being poisoned! You are not fine! You seem to only vaguely know who’s doing it, let alone how!”   
  
Tony’s eyes slid to the side a little, and Steve stopped. “You know how.”   
  
Again with the not-questions. “Magic,” Tony said, because that was the first thing that came to mind - what a happy accident it was that it happened to be true, too.   
  
“The Winter Soldier?”   
  
“No,” Tony said, his voice firm and his voice thorny. “Definitely not.”   
  
Thor clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder, pulling him away a little. “Poisoning someone, by magic alone, would be quite the task. My brother tried many times, but always failed.” He paused to gently shake Steve’s shoulders, drawing his eyes from the black ink that still showed under Tony’s collar. “They would need to be quite powerful indeed, and therefore they are likely to be among the ranks we are already targeting. They speak true, my friend - we are already doing all we can. It is commendable that they have found an antidote to counteract the effect.”   
  
A storm of questions were thrashing through Steve’s mind - among them the question of why Tony was being singled out, followed by the guilt of realising it might have been Steve’s affections themselves that drew a target on Tony’s head - but the word ‘Powerful’ struck a chord.   
  
There was only one being he knew of who would, without a doubt, have the power required.   
  
“It’s Iron Man, isn’t it?”   
  
Bruce froze, and Tony tensed up, and Steve knew. Rage bubbled from his stomach, bitter and sharp. He’d met the man. He’d managed to pierce the armour. Iron Man had been right there, not fighting back, and he’d let him get away.   
  
“It’s not like that,” Tony said, his voice tight. “It’s not an attack. It’s accidental, it’s exposure, it’s not-”   
  
“Exposure? He’s been here?”   
  
Tony, for once, knew when to shut up.   
  
“I do not think Iron Man is malicious,” Thor said, frowning slightly. “Friend Steven, perhaps you should take a moment to consider-”   
  
“I understand perfectly,” he snarled. “A free agent, supposedly working for the city’s benefit, but for what? What does he get out of it? He didn’t protect anybody from the Winter Soldier! Four lives were lost because he failed to step in! Four innocent lives!” He stepped backward, suddenly needing space. “How can any of you defend him? Tony, he let you be attacked, let you be kidnapped, and didn’t bother to step forward to help find you, and-”   
  
Tony’s eyes were closed, as though in pain. Bruce stepped in front of him. “Your highness, please-”   
  
“-he’s more powerful than half our own agents, but totally refuses to cooperate with any of our guards or military, and-”   
  
“Friend Steven-”   
  
“NO.” He wrenched his arm out of Thor’s grip, spun on his heel to face the Asgardian prince. “HE LET BUCKY FALL.”   
  
Steve was breathing hard, fingernails digging into the meat of his palms, when Thor gently put a hand on his shoulder. Nobody said anything when Steve shrugged it off.   
  
“He let Bucky fall,” he said, quiet now. His voice broke. “I begged him to save Bucky, but he saved me instead.”   
  
Tony slid from his perch atop the workbench. He opened his mouth, as though to say something, but seemed to reconsider; his eyes, his face, fell into a blank mask that Steve didn’t understand. “You’re right,” he finally said, his voice flat. “You’re right. It’s Iron Man. Iron Man’s the only one to blame.”   
  
Bruce and Thor looked like they were about to argue, but Steve beat them to it. “Tony?”   
  
“Look, I’m not feeling well, I’m just gonna go lie down for a bit, okay?”   
  
Tony’s eyes were shuttered. He didn’t so much as look at them; he flinched when Steve stepped toward him, confused.   
  
“He didn’t.”   
  
Steve didn’t register the new voice, at first. When he did, he froze, convinced he was hearing things.   
  
“Stevie,” the voice said, as though the newcomer wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying. He felt another hand rest on his shoulder; this one he didn’t shrug away. “He didn’t. He didn’t let me fall.”   
  
When he turned, Bucky’s head was bowed, slightly; his shoulders rounded. He let go to hold his right arm up in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he said, soft and slow, as though approaching an injured animal. “He did only what I asked.”   
  
“Buck,” Steve said, the word little more than a ghost. “Who- how-”   
  
He drank in the sight, bewildered; his friend’s hair was longer, his face more sunken and sallow than he remembered; the joviality that used to ripple off him like waves was gone-   
  
-But the small smile he offered was exactly how Steve remembered it, and it broke his heart.   
  
“It can’t be,” he whispered. “You- I saw you-”   
  
Then he remembered the false Clint, and froze.   
  
“It’s me,” Bucky said, his voice a little firmer than before. Steve cautiously stepped forward, unable to help himself. “It’s really me. I’m not a- not a Skrull.”   
  
Steve reached out, lifted Bucky’s chin, unable to restrain himself. He ran his eyes over the rest of him, faintly aware that he was looking for weapons, hating the fact that he was already suspicious, but they had only just killed Clint’s clone. To have to kill a copy of his closest childhood friend would end him. That’s how he registered the other arm - fingers made of finely integrated metal and magic, limp by Bucky’s side - and his stomach rolled.   
  
Bucky met his gaze without fear.   
  
Faintly, Steve registered people moving; dimly noticed when Carol and Rhodey appeared, both of them surprised and alarmed but ready to do as Steve commanded, and that was devastating, because even as he drew Bucky in for a hug, squeezed him with every ounce of grief he’d held on to all of these years, he knew he’d have to lock him away.   
  
Bucky’s answering hug exactly how Steve remembered it, even without his left arm.   
  
“Put him… put him in a cell,” he told Carol, who frowned but held her tongue. Steve held on, squeezed harder, desperately trying to commit this feeling to memory, almost wanting to cry when Bucky squeezed him back. “I… Until we know for sure it’s him. I’m so sorry,” his voice tapered away into uncertainty. “We have to know it’s really you.”   
  
The defeated look on Bucky’s face, when he pulled back, was enough to break his heart. “I understand,” the prince replied. Carol gently took his elbow. “I would do the same.”   
  
Steve watched them go, unsure what he was meant to do.    
  
It wasn’t until Bucky had been lead from the room before Steve realised Tony, Thor and Bruce were gone.

* * *

Tony knew what he would find when he followed the trail of bodies the Prince and Captain had left behind. He had followed this path in countless dreams, and would follow it again in countless more. The corridor led to a landing that overlooked the land below, the edge of it jutting out far beyond the edge of the cliff it was built upon. In the distance he could see the lights of Marvel, and the smoke and movement far below that betrayed the ongoing battle. He saw the weapon, the giant hunk of machinery, that was aimed directly at the city, slowly humming to life.   
  
He was just in time to see the Red Skull grip Captain Rogers’ shoulder, and drive a sword straight into his chest.   
  
No.   
  
He was amongst the fray long before he knew what he was doing. Faintly he registered Rogers falling to his knees, swaying there as he and Barnes went to war. Tony aimed a blow at the Red Skull’s face but missed. The Prince charged in with a sword that glanced off to the side with but a wave of the Red Skull’s hand, the villain turned, and readied something, and Tony jumped between him and the Prince in the desperate hope that his armour would save him.   
  
The magic seared through him, and for a moment Tony lost himself.   
  
When he came to, he was momentarily confused. He didn’t recognise where he was. Nearby, the Prince and the Skull waged on.    
  
A hand came to grasp Tony ’s armour-covered ankle and he stirred with a groan. Captain Rogers clung to him, his hand shaky and covered in blood but still firm. “Help him,” he begged, broken by a wet cough. His tongue and teeth were stained with blood. “Help- help me up. We have to help him.”   
  
For a moment, Tony didn’t understand. He stared down at the magical armour that covered him, confused.   
  
“Help him,” he heard Rogers beg. “Bucky, he’s going to-”   
  
Across the room the whine of the weapon reached a critical pitch, and everything came crashing back into place. Tony realised that he'd either miscalculated when he arrived, or he’d been out for minutes - they had mere seconds before the thing blew and took half of Marvel with it.    
  
He staggered to his feet, and realised he had to make a choice.   
  
Barnes seemed to catch his eyes, then, even as the Red Skull grasped him in a headlock and pulled him, struggling, toward the edge of the cliff. The same realisation must have registered for him, because he stopped struggling. Beside Tony, Rogers climbed to his feet, wavering and eyes falling shut as he slowly pulled the sword from his own chest.   
  
“Go,” Barnes mouthed. “Save them.”   
  
Tony tried not to think of the fact that the prince was giving up, tried not to think of the devastation that would follow for the people of the city. Instead he turned, and caught Steve around the middle, and flew to the giant wall of machinery, where he dropped Steve and threw his hands amongst the cogs and wires, wrenching it apart from the inside until he reached the rudimentary power source at its centre and pulled it from its holding.   
  
The explosion that followed threw him and Rogers to the ground. Tony’s last sight was the Red Skull and the prince tumbling off the edge, their screams silenced by the ringing in his ears.     
  
He woke, gasping, to find himself in Jarvis’s arms.   
  
There were very few things that could truly calm him in the wake of a nightmare, and this was one of them - the gentle embrace of the one person Tony considered to be a true father figure, one of the very few people Tony knew he could trust without question. He’d told Jarvis about his dreams - well, some of the more terrible ones - and knew that there was no judgement in those calm, warm eyes.    
  
“He fell,” he said, and Jarvis hummed, squeezing harder.   
  
It was all he needed to say.   
  
When Tony finally calmed, melting into his arms, Jarvis ran a hand through his hair. “His Majesty is here,” he said, almost apologetically. A hand stroked up and down the engineer’s back. “I believe he wishes to talk to you.”   
  
Tony nodded. He stayed for a moment, bathing in the warmth and comfort of the only man he’d ever truly considered his father.   
  
“Okay,” he sighed.   
  
He didn’t want to pour his energy into the glamour that covered his skin. Didn’t want to cover the reactor in his chest to hide its light and soften its edges. Didn’t want to face the man he’d betrayed by letting his best friend die.   
  
But he sighed, and did it anyway, and let Jarvis pull him to his feet.    
  
The front of Stark manor was quiet and dark, a stark difference to how Steve remembered it. It’d once been the epitome of luxury, a palace in its own right filled with giggling, tipsy women and far too much booze.   
  
The receiving room now was cold and dim. Steve sat on the hard chair in the corner and fiddled with his coat.    
  
He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing here. He knew he needed to talk to Tony, needed to understand the emptiness he’d seen in the engineer’s expression early in the day. He knew there was something very wrong, something he didn’t understand - but something he desperately wanted to.   
  
He couldn’t sleep.   
  
He was no stranger to nightmares. He’d had more than his fair share, especially after the last war - especially after Buck had fallen. His first rational thought after the dream had, in fact, been to go to the cells and talk to his old friend himself. But he’d already spent well over an hour sitting with the man in the cells after he was arrested; neither had talked, really, each wary and sad and simply content to be in each others’ presence - and the dream hadn’t been about the crown prince, anyway.   
  
Steve tried to will away the sight of Tony’s face, pale and empty and dead, his blood staining Steve’s hands, Steve’s own sword buried in his chest. He swallowed, and cleared his throat, and tried to think of anything else.   
  
Empty brown eyes stared back at him.   
  
The door rattled again and Steve stood to attention, ready to see Jarvis appear in his nightclothes again and politely request that he return in the morning. It was therefore with a strange thrill of surprise and delight when Tony himself appeared, seeming tired and sad but very much alive.   
  
“Tony,” Steve said. He swallowed. “I needed to- I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep-”   
  
He cut himself off, mortified.   
  
The engineer still looked half asleep, his hair ruffled and clothing loose and soft and comfortable, and Steve fiercely suppressed the urge to simply reach out and hold him. Who knew the man could look this adorable? But he sensed that something was still very wrong, something lay between them, and Steve felt that trying to push right now would break something he couldn’t repair.   
  
Tony didn’t say anything, clever eyes just watching him, but he moved back, subtly, gesturing down the hall with a nod of his head.   
  
Steve followed.   
  
He’d seen the inside of the Stark estate before, back when the mansion was well known for its parties. He’d always thought the place seemed stuffy and overcrowded with needless livery, an exercise in needless decadence and careless wealth. It seemed drab and unfamiliar now. The paintings were gone, bright squares of wallpaper betraying where they had been before; there was furniture, but it wasn’t the latest fashion, enough to be serviceable but not quite enough to denote any particular wealth.   
  
Something had happened here, and the guilt of never having noticed struck Steve like a hammer.   
  
Tony led him to a sitting room and disappeared, returning a moment later with a cup of brandy that he pressed gently into Steve’s hand. Then he sat on the couch opposite him, a mug of coffee clutched in his hands.   
  
Steve tried to catch his eye, but Tony seemed resolute in staring at the carpet.   
  
“Tony,” he said, softly. He leaned forward. “Talk to me.”   
  
Tony was silent. Steve was about to probe again when Tony’s voice finally broke through, oddly soft and cautious. “Most people tell me to shut up, you know. If people find out you’re encouraging me, there’ll be riots in the streets.”   
  
Steve couldn’t help a small smile. “A small sacrifice to pay.”   
  
Tony shook his head, and examined his mug.   
  
Steve couldn’t get drunk; something about his own manifestations of magic prevented it - but he tossed the drink back for courage anyway. He bit back the burn and stood, crossing the room quickly to sink before the engineer. He lifted Tony’s chin to properly meet his eyes.   
  
Tony blinked at him, outwardly startled and confused, but something else was there, and Steve felt a flutter of shy eagerness that he suppressed with a shiver. He settled on his knees and squeezed Tony’s knee with a single hand. “Please,” Steve whispered. “Tell me what’s wrong.”   
  
Tony closed his eyes with grimace and a shake of his head.   
  
“If it’s… if it’s me,” Steve said, halting. He gestured between the two of them. “If it’s this, just tell me. I’ll leave. I promise.”   
  
He’d be miserable about it, but he would do it anyway.   
  
“It’s not you,” Tony said. He opened his eyes and placed a gentle hand atop Steve’s. “It’s not you.”   
  
“Then what is it?”   
  
A beat of silence. “I’m… I’m not well,” he said, as though unsure how to say it.   
  
Steve nodded, swallowing thickly, but this time he didn’t say anything.   
  
“You deserve better than someone as… as sick as I am.”   
  
“I don’t care if you’re sick, and it’s not going to be a problem for long. We’ll take them down,” Steve said, with a frown. He remembered the way Tony had flinched at Iron Man’s name, and decided against mentioning him directly. “We’ll kill them, whoever’s doing this to you. We’ll find them, and we’ll kill them.”   
  
“I know you will,” Tony said, with an empty smile. Steve didn’t understand the emotion there, didn’t understand the way his thumb brushed the back of his hand as though Tony were comforting him instead of the other way around. “I’m worried about… about after.”   
  
“After we kill them? You’ll get better, I assume.”   
  
Tony’s eyes closed, and his head bowed, and Steve could feel something like ice crack above his heart. “Tony? You’ll get better, won’t you?”   
  
Tony didn’t say anything, and that was the worst part of it - the lack of confirmation itself speaking louder than words.   
  
“No.”   
  
“Steve-”   
  
“No,” Steve said, his voice cracking. “You’re wrong.”   
  
“Bruce and I have been looking into our options,” Tony said, letting go of Steve’s hand. His fingers twitched, tapping a staccato rhythm against his chest. “There aren’t any that seem, uh, viable-”   
  
“There are options?”   
  
Tony searched his face for a moment. “Potentially, yes,” he said, voice uncertain. “There are- there are some rumours and hints that we’ve uncovered. But we’ve been unsuccessful so far.”   
  
Steve crushed the rising heart rate, pushing the energy into blind determination instead. “Okay. Okay. We can work with that. What do you need? We’ll get the Academy involved-”   
  
Tony’s hands cradled Steve’s jaw in a slow caress and he broke off, distracted by the feeling. “They are already,” Tony whispered. “At least, some of them are.”   
  
“Only some?”   
  
“Well, not everyone there is involved with medicine or magic,” Tony said, his smile wry. A thumb traced Steve’s bottom lip. “I can’t imagine the archaeologists would have much to contribute. Besides, Hammer’s a dick.”   
  
Steve couldn’t help the smile. “Yeah,” he said, deciding that this was a topic he’d take up again tomorrow. He needed Tony too much right now to drive him away. His hand wrapped around Tony’s wrist, thumb running across the pulse point he found there. “He really is.”   
  
They lapsed into silence for a moment - Steve drinking in the sight of Tony bathed in fire and moonlight, looking for all the world like a vision from Steve’s dreams, Tony staring back at him as though trying to preserve the memory of his face.   
  
The dark circles under his eyes and the faint traces of black spiderwebs around his collar were the only things that seemed amiss.   
  
Something in Tony’s face changed. It was so subtle that Steve almost thought he’d imagined it, but what had been an unbreakable fortress in the form of Tony’s facade slipped to show a shade of vulnerability that was totally unfamiliar.   
  
It scared him.   
  
But Steve didn’t get the chance to think too deeply about it, because Tony leaned down and kissed him. He hummed with pleasure, easily following the tug on his lapels that brought him up onto his knees. There was no rush to it, both of them content for something soft and slow, until Tony moaned slightly, and Steve chuckled, and suddenly Tony’s tongue brushed his lips and it turned into something more.   
  
Tony leaned back, and Steve followed him, straddled him, until Tony was lying beneath him breathing sighs and soft moans into his mouth.   
  
They could talk in the morning, Steve thought, through a haze of love and lust. This was all they needed for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I've had that conversation between Tony and Strange written since before I posted the prologue. If it weren't for the fact that this chapter is ~~holy shit~~ 8k words long, and if it weren't for uni and work knocking me off my feet, this chapter would have been written muuuch faster. 
> 
> Don't study Neuroscience, kidlets. It's not worth it. 
> 
> (Thanks to my amazing betas Dragonlover44 and HadesPuppy for being so helpful and patient!)


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, a slight hiatus happened. I'm sorry! 
> 
> I had some lovely betas comb through this AND the existing chapters, so they've all been slightly improved. No major changes have been made. Massive thanks to Hadespuppy and dragonlover44 for their hard work!

Clint had been keeping a careful eye on the Stark estate.

He sat atop the castle walls, watching as the King stole quietly down toward the gate and was allowed in by Stark’s butler. Clint would have followed him, but he reasoned that even royalty were entitled to privacy now and then.

He worried at an arrow shaft, though, deep in thought.

He hadn’t forgotten the boy who’d been attacked by a Chitauri. The kid worked in the stables, close enough that Clint had been able to quietly watch him from the rooftops without him noticing. The kid definitely had powers - Clint was faintly surprised he’d avoided suspicion so far, considering how fucking _reckless_ the kid was - but he seemed entirely harmless and keen to serve his king. He didn’t seem to be the mysterious Iron man figure those webs were meant to come from.

That left Clint with more questions than answers, though. How did the kid even have powers? Why were his webs found on Iron Man’s victims?

What did this all have to do with Stark?

Clint had watched a litany of guests appear on the Stark estate at all hours. They were an odd collection of people - the stable boy, a foreign prince, a fashion designer, an astrothaumaturge and her assistant - definitely not the typical collection of house guests one would expect of a nobleman or engineer. Half the time Stark’s guests didn’t even bother with the gates, choosing instead to scale the walls in the cover of darkness. Clint had followed some of them too, finding little more than a collection of people who seemed intent on serving their king and their community.

This all seemed more like a simple neighbourhood community than some kind of treasonous plot, but that didn’t make much sense.

He should be more suspicious. He should have reported all of this days ago, but something was making him hesitate. He simply couldn’t seem to shake the idea that Tony was a good man - even if he had something to do with Iron Man himself.

He just hoped he wasn’t gambling the King’s life on a _hunch._

* * *

 “Just imagine what the guards must be thinking.”

It was a quiet murmur breathed gently into Steve’s ear, but it was enough to rouse him. He smiled and turned his head toward brown curls to kiss the forehead he found there. “They can wait.”

The warm body beside him shifted and a small chuckle ghosted across his neck. Steve wrapped his arms tighter, his fingers clutching tight to the soft shirt of his lover - of his _lover_ \- and shook his head. “No moving. Stay. Right here.”

Tony stopped wriggling. A moment later he pressed a kiss into the junction between Steve’s jaw and neck and nuzzled closer.

Steve lost himself in a half-asleep daze, stroking Tony’s shoulder with a thumb and watching as the clouds through the eastern window were gradually gilded with sunlight. The colours of the room around them, faded with age and lack of care, slowly crept back into view.

Something was digging into Steve’s chest, where Tony was pressed against him. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but he had to assume it was something to do with the lines that crossed Tony’s chest. A device of some kind, he was sure. He puzzled over the thought, frowning, his nose tucked into Tony’s hair and arms snaking around him to pull them closer together.

“Steve.”

He sighed, and breathed Tony’s scent in - machinery and fire and oil. “What.”

“You should probably go.”

“Nuh-uh.” He rolled just enough to pin Tony between him and the back of the couch. Tony made a small noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a huff of irritation. “Staying.”

“I thought you were meant to be a morning person.”

“I am a morning person. I like mornings.” He brushed their lips together, too blissfully sleepy to kiss him properly and so completely at peace that he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to go anywhere else. “I am particularly enjoying this one.”

Tony giggled and pushed him away, squirming even when Steve tried to pull him back into his arms. “Go away,” he huffed, still laughing. “Go on. Shoo.”

Steve chuckled and gave up, sliding his feet to the ground and sitting up. Through the eastern window he could see clouds just beginning to be tinged with gold. The street beyond the Stark Estate was still quiet. Only a handful of shadows moved in the early grey light - early risers getting up to greet the day.

The blanket rustled behind him, and he was momentarily distracted by Tony’s reflection in the thick window glass. The engineer was sprawled across the lounge, tangled in blankets and the shirt Steve hadn’t managed to remove during the night, a picture of ease and contentment. He felt a sudden urge to take up his old pencils and draw him, and studied the shape of him a little - the curl of his hair, the graceful curve of his spine, the faint smile on the edge of his mouth. He turned to find Tony wrapped within it, a picture of contentment against the lounge’s green brocade.

“You’re not coming with me?”

A groan. “Whyyyy.”

“You _just_ kicked me out to greet the day, and now you’re going back to sleep?”

“You have responsibilities.”

“So do you.”

“You also have scary spy assassins who are willing to protect their fearless leader with the aid of _sharp, pointy objects_.”

Steve found his pants discarded on the other side of the lounge and pulled them on, amused. Tony had somehow managed to survive the night with his shirt still on; Steve, however, had been far more adventurous. “Those scary spy assassins care about you too, you know.”

“I’ll be sure to remind them of that when they find out about I’ve done.”

The tone was odd, but Steve was too busy looking for his belt to notice. He found it under the window, next to Tony’s shoes; he tossed one, and laughed at the offended yelp he earned when it bounced off Tony’s shoulder. “Get up! You’ve got things to invent, surely-”

He broke off. A bell was ringing in the distance, at the entrance to the outer city - the bell that announced the arrival of an important visitor. He caught a glimpse of a horse galloping toward the castle at a truly alarming speed.

“Tony?”

Tony lifted his head, blinking blearily. One cheek still had an imprint of his hand on it, and Steve had to resist the urge to kiss him. “What’s wrong?”

“Get dressed. I think we may be needed at the castle.”

* * *

There was something so joyful about leaving the house together, of running through the early morning streets with fingers entwined. Steve kept his hood up, of course, but that wasn’t unheard of on cold, slightly drizzly mornings; nobody looked twice at the man who kept his head down, whispering things into the inventor’s ear whenever they had to pause a moment for someone else to pass.

For a while, Tony could almost trick himself into thinking this was possible, that the two of them could keep this precious thing they had between them and foster it into something more. He’d never had the chance to simply walk with a lover before; his previous ‘relationships’ had mostly consisted of midnight trysts into opulent bedrooms, not early morning dawdles together in the street. This was something different, something that filled his heart with warmth-

Then they approached the castle, and Steve finally saw the cause of the commotion. He dropped Tony’s hand without a backward glance, already shoving through the surprised guards around the gate as Tony’s daydream shattered around him.

“Peggy!?”

The woman beside the horse was surrounded by guards and servants, but Steve would recognise her anywhere. She turned to face him, her eyes a little wild, and relief flooded her features even as she wavered on her feet.

Steve moved to steady her, but she stubbornly pushed him away. “Steve,” she said, gripping his shoulders. “Listen to me. They’re coming. Hydra. The army is - it’s still tiny, but it’s moving, and it’s transporting something.”

“A weapon?”

She shook her head. “We tried. We couldn’t… We don’t know. We couldn’t get close enough.”

Steve nodded, expression grim. “Call a council,” he told the nearest guard, pulling her arm over his own shoulders. “Tell all the others. Get them prepared to plan for war tonight. Peggy, let’s get you inside-”

He glanced back only once as he guided her up the stairs, noticing only that Tony was watching him go, his expression defeated and sad.

* * *

“… Stark? You okay?”

Clint was looking at him oddly. Tony wasn’t sure if he’d noticed Tony’s grimace of pain when the _thing_ in his chest stuttered and radiated with pain, or if he’d noticed the way Steve had dropped his hand without a backward glance. Tony gave him a brittle smile and waved it off. “Hydra,” he said, as though that should explain all his problems.

That wasn’t why Clint was asking, and they both knew it, but Tony turned and left before Clint could say another word.

He had someone he needed to see.

* * *

The second thing Jane liked most about her job came from the stars themselves.

They were always the same, you see; they may move around with each other, but they were perpetually

Her telescope was situated in a tower well above the rest of the Academy, far from the pollution of the occasional street lamp and roaring fires inside the dorm rooms below.

The best thing, though, was that to study them, she could justifiably keep any kind of schedule she liked, in order to avoid the very people she hated.

Unfortunately, however, she still had to interact with them _sometimes._

“Now you see,” Hammer told her, punctuated with a gigantic bite of his apple. “You shee, I can apprecia’ tha’ you have put a lot off effort into thish, I really can, it’sh real shweet, but this?”

He swallowed, with difficulty, and gestured at the data she had strewn across his desk. “I can’t accept this. This is all… this doesn’t make any sense. Your data is clearly wrong. But that’s okay,” he said, shooting her a saccharine sweet smile. “We all make mistakes when we start out.”

She scowled at him and pulled her notes back to her chest. “I’m not wrong. They’re a hive mind, I’m telling you-”

“Sweetie,” Hammer said, launching out of his seat and putting his arm around her shoulders. He snatched one of the pages of notes she had to prove her suspicions, perusing it with disdain. “I know you think you’re right, but it’s simply _not possible_ . I don’t know where you get these ideas from. There’s no such thing as a _hive mind_.” He screwed the page into a ball and tossed it at the bin on the other side of the room. He missed. “Why don’t you go and keep trying to figure out the cosmos, or… whatever it is you do. Stay in your lane, as it were?”

She ducked away from his shoulders, marching toward the door, gritting her teeth. “Fuck you,” she hissed out, venom dripping from every pore.

“Oh come now-” Hammer said, and as she slammed the door she imagined his head between it and the door jamb.

She could lose one page, she told herself, panting slightly in barely suppressed fury. She rearranged the stack of paper in her arms and marched back in the general direction of her tower. She would get the message to the castle herself, tonight, when she’d had a chance to sleep. She was just wondering how she was meant to get an audience with anybody of importance now that Stark was missing when she turned the last corner to her office door and ran directly into the man himself.

“Ah!” he said. “Just the person I was looking for.”

She should have been overjoyed. She should have immediately sighed with relief. Instead, she shoved her pile of paper into his hands and marched through the door to her office, not bothering to hold the door open for him to follow.

He stared down at the notes in his hand for a moment, as though trying to decipher exactly how they had ended up in his possession. “… So I take it this is a bad time?”

Jane threw herself into her favourite office chair and glared at her desk - or at least what she could see of it through the scattered mess of paper and books. Far too many books. “Hammer,” she hissed out, as Tony followed her into the room and gently shut the door behind them, “Is a _dick_.”

“So I keep telling people,” Tony replied. He put her notes carefully atop the desk and frowned at the top page. “But somehow, against all odds, he’s still here.”

“He won’t take me seriously.”

“That sounds like him.”

“He’s so goddamn condescending and no matter what I do he refuses to take _anything_ I do _seriously_!” She picked up a cushion from the corner and pressed it to her face to suppress a scream.

Tony hummed in sympathetic agreement, but his attention was drawn back to the notes in front of him. He scanned the top page and flipped to the next one, vaguely aware that she’d slumped back into her chair with a defeated sigh. “Always convinced he’s smarter than everybody who enters the Academy’s doors-” he glanced up, his gaze serious. “- though I suspect he barely holds up against the amphibian specimens down in the lab, let alone against yourself.” He glanced back at the paper in his hand and frowned, scanning the next page. “Your mind is worth a good deal more than his.”

She took the acknowledgement in stride, tugging her hair back into a ponytail. She tied it off and slumped against the back of her chair, already feeling the pull of her bed upstairs, and growled at the mess of paper Tony was now scanning with interest. “My notes on the Chitauri,” she explained, finally reaching forward to straighten the pages and begin putting them back in order. “I’ve been researching them, spending nights in the stacks, and I’m _convinced_ there’s something there. Every book, every paper, mentions their odd behaviour-” She pulled a book from the pile that had mounted beside her desk. “Look, here. I was researching records of inter-dimensional disturbances to see if we might be able to find you a replacement core, and-”

The page she flipped to held a detailed picture resembling the same creature that had attacked Peter Parker. Tony pulled the book closer and frowned at it.

“There have been four more since you were gone,” Jane said, suddenly remembering that _holy shit Tony Stark was kidnapped and now he’s here_. “Four more attacks. One caught by the city guards, the other two by some of ours. They followed standard procedure,” - meaning, Tony knew, Iron Man’s signature marks had been left at every scene - “-but they seem to be coming more often. The last two were only a day apart. I don’t think the Crown even knows how many attacks there have been, what with you being missing…”

Tony let her voice fade, concentrating instead on the book. The passage was brief; it described an alien race, from a far-away country, or perhaps hell or another dimension, that acted as a hybrid of biology and machine. Creatures that weren’t particularly powerful on their own, but in swarms could deal considerable damage.

“They show no sense of self-preservation,” Jane broke in, tapping a paragraph. He glanced up at her. “They synchronise their attacks. What kind of creature leaps directly into battle with no regard for defense? How are they all acting as one?”

“They could be communicating with each other-”

“- that’s what I thought. But then this other account-” she picked up another book, flipping through the pages with an air of frustrated urgency. “Here. This one. This soldier said the things were acting as one, even before words could be said. As though they were-”

“A hive mind.”

Jane looked up, but Tony was staring out the window at the morning sunshine. “A hive mind,” she agreed.

“This changes things.”

She closed the book, sliding it back onto the desk. “It does. We need to warn the guards, the King-”

“I’ll get you an audience,” he promised, not really thinking about it. He’d figure it out. “How do we defend against that?”

“I don’t know, but I assume if you can find the central part of the hive and destroy it-”

“- You destroy all the others.” He stared at her. “You, Jane Foster, are a genius.”

She grinned at him, her frustration gone. “I know. So when did you get back?”

“Yesterday.”

“It’s 9 am.”

Tony squinted at the window, apparently only just noticing that the sun was up. “So it is.”

“You’re _never_ up this early.”

“I resent that.”

“Do you?”

“I will have you know that many a stroke of inspiration has led me to be awake at just such a time-”

“Meaning you never went to sleep at all.” She leaned back. “Don’t think I don’t know you.”

“Look, I woke up, and discovered my bed was empty, and decided I needed to go for a walk, and then remembered that you are such excellent company, and thought I would come along to see how your work has been going while I was gone-”

Her smile turned sad, and Tony glanced away, embarrassed, pressing the heel of his palm against the thing in his chest. He hated when people pitied him. “I’m chasing a new lead,” she told him, softly. “Rhodey was going to follow up on some rumours of meteors, see if any of them could have brought down a new core. He was supposed to have left yesterday night. I’m assuming he’s been delayed, now.”

“I saw him yesterday. He gave me a lecture.”

“I imagine he did. I’ve been tracking dimensional disturbances, too, but I’m only getting mild blips in Hydra territory. As soon as one appears in Marvel ground, I’ll send someone out to investigate it. Why was your bed being empty a surprise?”

Perfect segue.

“What?”

“You said your bed was empty. That implies it HAD been full.” She leaned forward. “I have a lot of money resting on this, so I must ask; was it who I think it was?”

“I am APPALLED,” Tony said, rising from his chair. “Appalled and shocked and dismayed at this betrayal-”

“- So it was, then,” she said, glee slipping into her voice. “A sordid, _royal_ affair-”

“I will have your job, you know. I will go and talk to His Royal Fucking Highness and have you removed-”

“Any excuse to be around his majesty?”

He stopped, and stabbed a finger in her direction. “Unfair.”

She shrugged, amused. “You’ve been trying to get rid of Hammer for years; I feel like my job is safe. So, is there any other reason you’re here, or are you just taking up my valuable sleeping time? Because let me tell you, if you’re about to ask me to take you down to the archives room I’m gonna be _really_ annoyed.”

Tony froze and stared at her. “The archives,” he said, voice suddenly coming from miles away.

“Oh, no.”

“Jane Foster, you _brilliant_ woman.”

“No. Nope. I’m tired.”

“You are the one bright star in this entire Academy and I promise you I will mount Hammer’s head on a stick if you do me _one teensy favour._ ”

She sighed and let her head fall onto her crossed arms on the desk. “Why am I putting up with this?”

“Because I make such excellent company,” he chirped. “And you’re my favourite astrothaumaturge in this entire goddamn Academy.”

“You say that, but I can’t help feeling like you’re using me for my keys.” She pulled a lanyard from under her shirt as she rose and shuffled past Tony. He followed, flashing a brilliant smile at her half-hearted glare.

It had been a while since he’d last asked her for access to the archives. It was a secured room hidden behind ancient locks and had a detailed list of each citizen with magic, their powers, and who they had killed to gain them. At least, it was _meant_ to have one. The vast majority were people who had killed enemy soldiers in the war, but now and then a suspicious case arose: a mysteriously gifted person with no previous murderous history to be found.

It was good to know who was lying to the state about their magical gifts.

Tony seemed deep in thought by the time they reached the archives and Jane ushered him through. He moved immediately down the stacks and she followed him, eyeing the way he pressed a palm against his chest.

“I’m trying, Tony, you know I am-”

“It’s okay. Really.” Tony tugged a box from one of the shelves and flipped through the files inside. “You’re doing your best.”

She paused for a moment, a delicate frown on her face. “We’re going to find you something. We’re going to find a replacement, and you’ll be fine-”

“- up until the next one runs out too. Look, Jane, I trust you. I really do.” He paused, seeing the scepticism in her eyes, and let his head fall forward. “Barnes.”

“… Barnes?”

“The record. I need to see… I need to see Barnes. James Barnes.”

She frowned. “He’s dead.”

“I trust you,” Tony whispered. “I trust you and Thor, and I need you to keep this quiet. You never brought me here.”

Tony could see the moment she realised what he wasn’t saying.

“Not a word,” she whispered, frowning a little. He pulled another box from the shelf and started leafing through that too.

They finally found what they were looking for in a large box in the corner, with a collection of files belonging to the dead. It was a single long piece of card paper, covered in a long list of incidents dated from the midst of Marvel’s last war. They scanned the list together, Tony humming in surprise when he found a collection of entries from the day the war had ended.

He recognised that handwriting. He tried not to think of Steve reliving Bucky’s final day and focused on the running total at the bottom of the page.

Total kill count: 76.

“Tony?”

He glanced up at Jane and flashed a brittle smile. “You’re a true hero, Jane. Don’t ever let Hammer think otherwise.”

* * *

“So how was it?”

Steve jumped, surprised out of his anxious thoughts. Clint definitely hadn’t been there when Steve had taken up his traditional thinking spot on the steps leading out to the kitchen gardens. “How was what?”

“Your night.” Clint grinned. His feet kicked idly against the wall he was sitting on. “With Stark.”

“... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clint’s grin was _triumphant_ . “Sure you don’t. Listen, next time just let us know you’re heading out, would you? I don’t mind a midnight excursion or two, but a man _would_ like a little warning.”

Steve could feel the blush that spread across his cheeks and down his neck. “I’ll be sure to give you some, uh, warning.” he offered. “Next time. If I must.”

Clint nodded, seemingly satisfied, but something about his expression was off.

“Something wrong, Barton?”

He was expecting the archer to make another quip about his sex life, but instead Clint rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking faintly uncertain. “Listen, Steve. There’s something-” the archer seemed to hesitate for a moment to think through what he wanted to say. “Stark’s a good man, right?”

Steve nodded, frowning. “The best,” he said. “He does a lot for the city.”

“Do you think sometimes good people have to do the wrong thing for the right reasons?”

Steve studied him, frowning. “... What are you implying?”

“Nothing. Nothing. But it’s like Barnes, right? Sometimes people might seem suspicious when they’re actually the good guy.”

“Buck hasn’t been cleared of charges yet,” Steve said, confused. “What is this about, Barton?”

Clint just held his hands up. “I’ve just been keeping an eye on Stark, that’s all. Can’t have the king sleeping with the enemy, right?” He gave a sheepish grin. “I’m worried about him. I’m worried that some people might accuse him of treason.”

Steve laughed. “What, for leading me astray?”

“Something like that.”

Steve shook his head, his smile wry and fond. “He might be a little eccentric sometimes, but he’s one of the best men I know.”

 _I hope you’re right,_ Clint thought. _Or this is gonna be_ really _hard to explain to Nat._

* * *

Tony stared up at the shelves that lined the workshop walls, for once unsure exactly where he should begin. He knew what he was looking for. He had a vaguely half-formed list of projects that might be useful, if he had actually invented gotten around to inventing them. There were likely dozens of useful prototypes scattered across the walls. The problem, however, was that there were _so goddamn many shelves to search through._

The large majority of them were quickly constructed, mostly out of material that just happened to be lying around, because the sheer number of things Tony and Bruce needed in their workshop was constantly growing. The volume had long since overwhelmed the already generous store-room in the back corner. Tony had built the new shelves as they needed them, slowly expanding them until half the walls could barely be seen behind the collection of gadgets and bottles and metal scraps waiting to be used. There were hundreds of half-finished projects buried in the mess, things Tony had started building in the middle of one of his fever dreams and forgotten about when a new, more important task came up.

It was almost awe-inspiring, if it didn’t look like a _mess_.

“-And so we need defences. I mean, I know you and I have been working on this for a while, and we technically have the upper hand here, but we have to get on top of this. We need to make sure they can’t get anywhere near us-”

He glanced up from rifling through one of the shelves, an arm already cradling three half finished devices - weapons he had been working on when he was kidnapped. He handed them off to Bruce, vaguely aware that the man was quiet and pale. He climbed the next rung of the ladder and surveyed the mess on the next shelf with derision. “Have you seen the prototype for Clint’s hearing aids? I have an idea.”

“Tony.”

“I mean, how good would it be if everyone could communicate with each other directly without needing to be right next to each other? I can use those radio waves we were talking about, transmit voice signals using the carbon mic system I made-”

“Tony, I told them how to shut off the tessaract.”

Tony stilled.

“I… A skrull was here, pretending to be Clint. It asked how to work the tessaract, and I… I told them how to shut it off.”

Bruce waited for the argument he knew was coming, faintly worried that the Monster would make an appearance if it got out of hand. Hell, he half expected Tony to attempt to throttle him.

“I really, _really_ wish you hadn’t done that.”

Bruce flinched. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“That’s. Okay. Fuck. That’s bad news. Shit. That’s really bad news. Um.” Tony stared at the things he was holding, almost puzzled to find they were there. He climbed down from the ladder and let them tumble haphazardly onto the workbench. “Okay.”

“It’s just- I thought he was Clint, and I figured it would be safer if a couple other people know how to switch it off, just in case.”

“Good idea.”

“I know, it’s-” he paused. That hadn’t sounded like sarcasm. “Good idea?”

“Yep. We’ll tell our little Strike Force 1 as soon as possible. Good to have backups, right?”

The grin he flashed wasn’t the most confident, but Bruce could see the effort he was putting into it.

“But I- You should be furious.”

“Bruce. Brucie-bear. Keep a little context! Who was the one who got us into this mess in the first place? Who’s the person who discovered how to get it to work in the first place? Who created the blueprints of… of whatever it is they’re making? All you’ve done is told them how to make the damn tessaract itself stop working. That’s nothing!”

“They could retro-engineer it-”

“True, and they probably _have_. But.” He pressed his hands onto Bruce’s shoulders, gave them a squeeze. “This is my fault, Bruce.”

And it was true. Tony’s waking nightmare, his eternal damnation, his constant mantra of _my fault my fault my fault._ All of it fell back to him. He could see in Bruce’s eyes that he accepted that, even if he wished it weren’t true. He broke away to pick up one of his notebooks, trying to appear unconcerned.

“What are they building? What… what weapon?”

Tony rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. “That’s the fucking thing. I don’t… I don’t know.”

“You told me yesterday-”

“I told you that Obie gave them some blueprints, sure, but I don’t know what fucking blueprints were _left_ . I destroyed everything. _Everything_ . But apparently I missed something, and it _must_ have been one of the weapons, because there is no way in hell Hydra is interested in anything that _isn’t_ a weapon. But it’s not _possible!_ ” He let his notebook fall to the workbench with a resounding thud. “I made hundreds of blueprints, Bruce. Most of them things like… like body scanners, or portals, or air transport. But of course, out of all the useless, harmless shit I designed, he managed to get his hands on one of the weapons.

“I just… I don’t know which one. I was so sure I destroyed everything, Bruce. How do I built adequate defences against Hydra’s coming attack if I don’t know what it will be?”

Bruce shrugged. “The same way we would approach any other war - build _everything_ , and hope it works.”

Tony frowned and flipped through the notebook, stopping at a page with a triumphant cheer. “I KNEW I STILL HAD THESE NOTES.”

“Notes for what?”

Tony turned the book and slid it toward the engineer. Bruce had been expecting something useful - a shield, trebuchets, something along those lines - so he was puzzled at what he saw. “What is that?”

“Remember the scanner I built, years ago? The one that can read how many people someone’s killed?”

“The last time you used that, it was to check that a new recruit was being honest about his kill count.” That wasn’t true - Tony had last used it in a half-drunk haze to remind himself of the debt he owed - but Bruce didn’t need to know that. “I’m not sure how that’s going to help us defend Marvel.”

“It’s not for the battle. It’s for Barnes.”

Bruce frowned. “Why would you want to know his kill count?”

“He’s gonna have to go to trial, right? People are going to be worried that he’s, I dunno, still the Winter Soldier. We can’t have that. He should be King! So I have this idea, it’s a brilliant idea, well it’s actually JANE’s idea, god she’s brilliant-”

“Tony.”

“So I have this idea where we might be able to use it to save him. We can use it to prove that he’s innocent.”

“I don’t follow.”

Tony waved a hand, as though brushing the conversation aside. “Don’t worry about it, we’ve gotta get to work. Have you still got those notes on radiation?”

Bruce smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I destroyed them.”

“Whatever for?”

“Playing with radiation is why I’ve got The Other Guy to deal with.”

“You mean big, green and hulk-y? He’s caused by radiation? Cool. I liked him. You should have introduced us earlier. What’s his name?”

“ _Tony.”_

“Wow, look, I’m flattered that you wanted to name him after me, I really am, but you could have let me know that I had the honour!”

Bruce couldn’t help but smile a little. “He hasn’t got a name.”

“Well he’s very good at Hulking. Let’s call him Hulk. I’ll whip up a nice name badge for him later.” Tony grinned, and clapped a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Big, big fan of the way you can spontaneously erupt into a giant angry monster. A very useful skill to have. We’re gonna have to talk about how that happened at some stage. Right now, though-” the engineer skittered back to the nearest shelves and started digging through them again. “- Right now I need to create a communication system. How’s ‘Comms unit’ for a name, Brucie-bear? Be honest. I don’t actually care what you think, I think it’s brilliant, but I do like validation now and then.”

“Sure, Tony.” Bruce glanced up, in time to catch Tony’s triumphant grin. “Show me what you need from me.”

Tony slid his notebook toward him, already sketching out ideas, and Bruce settled into the comforting haze of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll be done by Christmas. I swear. It definitely will. I'm determined. 
> 
> My tumblr is [here](https://valenixfix.tumblr.com/) if you wanna reach me!


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a big, angsty mess of a chapter involving battle. Check the end notes for specific content warnings.

It was a week before their spies caught Hydra at the border. 

It was a week and a half before the troops Marvel sent to fend them off were slaughtered, nothing but an empty field of fly-ridden corpses left behind.

* * *

 

The sun was still barely above the horizon by the time the last evacuees left the city gates. Steve stood at the window of the war room, watching the procession hurry along the road toward the distant shelter of Asgard, feeling a crushing sense of dread settle over his heart.

Behind him, Peggy finished telling the gathered advisors and military leaders everything she knew - which was, unfortunately, very little. Steve didn’t doubt her abilities as a master spy - nobody did - but the fact that they didn’t know exactly what enemy was advancing upon them drove a stake of worry straight through Steve’s chest. He was a tactician, a strategist, and he did his job best when he understood exactly what he was working with.

None of them really knew what they were working with.

He knew that Marvel’s protectors were capable and strong. He knew that hundreds of civilians had volunteered to stay and protect their kingdom. He knew that all estimates of their and their enemy’s numbers promised an easy victory for Marvel, and that the refugees we was watching wind toward the city games would shortly return to their city-

But Steve wasn’t foolish. An army as confident as Hydra’s was one to be feared, no matter its size.

Peggy took her seat, and the room fell silent. Steve let the news settle before he finally broke the quiet. “Have we any new word from Asgard?”

Thor nodded, uncharacteristically quiet. “Aye. They have accepted our request for refuge.”

Steve eyed the evacuees below. _I should hope so_ , he thought. “And aid?”

“… No reply, yet, but it is still early.”

 _They won_ _’t come,_ Steve thought to himself. _Not at the request of a banished prince._

Fury moved closer to the table from his previous position by the door. “Sire, we need as many fighters as we can. It’s not too late to stop the evacuation-”

“I am not going to force innocent people to become unwilling soldiers,” Steve sighed. “We have volunteers, and they will have to be enough. I’m not going to force innocent people to fight and die in a war they didn’t seek out.”

“But sire-”

“NO!” A moment later Steve he realised he had slammed a fist onto the table. He carefully unfolded it and let his hand lie flat on the wood. “No. No citizen will be forced to sacrifice their lives. Our people will journey home from Asgard to find Marvel safe and whole. Now, Stark-” He met Tony’s worried eyes across the room, unable to ignore the light flutter in his chest. They hadn’t had a moment together since Peggy had arrived home two weeks prior. “- I understand you have some new developments for our strike team.”

Tony cleared his throat and stood, but Hammer flew to his feet. “Now, your majesty, I understand that you’re interested in having new weapons for the upcoming, uh, war, as it were, and I would like to make it clear that the Academy holds a great many academic minds who are more than capable of developing exactly what Marvel needs. Surely you think we are more trustworthy than _Stark-_ ”

Steve raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, content to let Tony respond himself. The inventor flashed a brilliant smile and put a box on the table in front of him with a flourish. “I think you’ll find Marvel needs technology that actually _works_ ,” Tony quipped. “You’re not exactly known for your reliability.”

Hammer grinned and stood straighter. “Oh, Tony. Tony, listen, there’s no need to be defensive! There’s no shame in being a mere consultant. My students and I are more than capable-”

“I’ve no doubt about your students, considering I put half of them in there. It’s you I question.”

Hammer coughed and straightened. “At least I’m not a washed up, cowardly _whore-_ _”_

“Enough.”

Hammer froze momentarily, before melting back into a smarmy smile. Steve was suddenly struck with the thought that Hammer seemed too relaxed, somehow. The man was always trying to present a front of confidence, of dominance, but he had nervous tells that Steve had gotten to know. Hammer was typically slightly anxious at these meetings, especially when battle was concerned.

Hammer wasn’t evacuating, though, and he seemed oddly _relaxed_.

Steve didn’t voice any of this. Instead, he smiled. “I’m sure you and your students have made admirable progress,” he said. “Send over your devices first thing tomorrow and they will be duly considered. Now - Stark. I understand you have an invention?”

Hammer’s mouth twisted as he sat, like a petulant child.

Tony cleared his throat, not bothering to hide his amusement. He lifted a crate full of items onto the table. “Before we start on the actual weapons - sit _down_ Barton, I have your arrows in the workshop - I have a device I’m calling a Comms Unit…”

Steve leaned back in his chair, letting Tony’s voice wash over him as he stared out the window, distracted by the stragglers behind the major group of refugees. 

He thought of Bucky in the dungeons and hoped he was doing the right thing.

* * *

 

It was another two days before the scouts announced that the approaching army was a single day’s march from the city.

That night was quiet. Many soldiers slept, tired from their training and the exhaustion of dread, but Steve couldn’t. He stood on the battlements and stared across the fields, heart beating far too loud in his ears.

Tony joined him, at some point, though Steve wasn’t entirely sure when.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Steve hummed in response. “I keep telling myself that, but it just won’t sink in.”

“We have the finest soldiers and magic users at our disposal. No matter what Hydra has…”

Tony trailed off, an odd tone to his voice. Steve reached across and took his hand. “Promise me you’ll stay in the city.”

“What?”

“Just… Tony, please. Don’t try to come out to battle.”

“Steve, I can’t-”

“ _Please_ , Tony! I can’t have you out there, I can’t worry about you-”

“I’ll be fine,” Tony snapped back. He pulled his hand from Steve’s and stuffed it into his pocket. “I can hold my own.”

“No, you-”

Steve took a deep breath and hung his head. His instinct was to rage, to meet Tony’s stubbornness with his own, but he was trying to be a good king. He switched tactics. “Tony, please. You’re more valuable here, inside the city. If something goes wrong, if one of our defences stops working, we need you here. To fix it.”

Tony stared at him, not responding. Steve looked away. “If everything goes to hell, we need you here as our line of defence. Promise me.” 

Tony cleared his throat. “Okay.”

* * *

 

The battle began at dawn the next morning.

Tony stood tall among the archers that lined Marvel’s ramparts, watching with dread as a small battalion approached from the west. They brought with them a wagon, with a machine that Tony couldn’t quite place, until Steve’s troops ran to meet them.

Then the portal flickered to life, and thousands of Chitauri appeared on the other side, framed by a setting sun behind them as they flooded through to Marvel’s early dawn.

Tony froze, suddenly overwhelmed by guilt, by horror, that he didn’t consider this as an option. All his plans, all his defences, had relied on a tiny army that should have been easily overwhelmed. By a single weapon that would need to be taken out, not thousands upon thousands of troops.

Marvel’s front lines faltered, but the two army lines met, and the battle truly began.

Tony could see something behind the heaving mass of Chitauri, partially hidden behind the frame of the portal - giant creature, resembling the Chitauri, and yet so much larger. _Hive mind_ , Tony’s mind supplied, and everything clicked into place.

He knew what he had to do. 

He ran down the stairs and sprinted across toward the dungeons. He had planned on channelling Bucky’s extra magic into a stone, into a new reactor core, but now he didn’t have any time. He crashed into the workshop, found the device he was looking for, and ran toward the dungeons.

* * *

 

Bucky snapped to awareness the moment the dungeon door clicked shut, and within moments he had taken stock of what little he had on him. There weren’t really any useful weapons around him, nothing beside his own body and the clothes he was wearing. He could probably use his boot laces as a garrotte, he mused, if he managed to get them off in time.

He forced his body to appear to still be sleeping

“Hey there, Buckaroo.”

Bucky dropped the charade of sleep. “I was under the impression you were forbidden from visiting me.”

He looked up in time to see Tony sink down in front of the cell door with a grunt. The engineer shrugged, studying something in his lap with a half-hearted smile on his face. “Seems I’ve been allowed in. Why, you don’t want a visitor?”

Bucky rose to his elbows, eyes narrowed. Tony was hiding something. “’Course I do. ‘S been pretty lonely down here.”

“Hasn’t Steve been here to visit?”

Bucky grimaced. “He’s torn between suspectin’ me of treason and thinkin’ I’m a victim. Not much conversation to be had between the two of them.”

Tony chuckled lightly, but it was a hollow sound, distant and forced and entirely unhappy. “I’d imagine not.”

Bucky watched him for a moment, trying to assess the situation through the haze of half-sleep and heightened instincts left over from the Winter Soldier. Tony met his eyes, his smile falling back into the familiar fake smile. “I’ve always wanted to fly, you know.”

Bucky frowned, and sat up completely. Tony fiddled with the object in his lap and Bucky moved closer, angling to look at it properly. He didn’t recognise it.

 The engineer looked tired and oddly resigned, and Bucky reached through the bars to gently take his hand. Tony grimaced and squeezed it back. “I flew for a few seconds,” Tony continued, fiddling with the device in his other hand. “Just before you fell. I’ve tried to do it again since, but-” he shook his head, his mouth turning downward. “I couldn’t balance it, couldn’t sustain it. I guess I finally found something that I’m not powerful enough to do.

“And now, they’re out there fighting - on the other side of the walls, outside the city, close enough for us to hear and see but nowhere near close enough to help. If I could just fly…”

“Tony…”

Tony gripped his wrist in his other hand as he finally looked up. His eyes were desperate. “If I could fly, I would help them. Wouldn’t you want to use your magic to help them?”

“Of course.”

Tony nodded. The device in his lap beeped and they both glanced down at the number 697 flashing on its screen. Tony’s hand shook. “More than I thought,” Tony breathed. “This is going to hurt.”

“What’s going to hurt?”

“Don’t worry.” Tony gave him a small smile, vaguely apologetic. “It won’t hurt you.”

“What do you-”

Tony’s hands latched onto his wrist, his fingers digging in, and Bucky felt a _pull_ , as though a hook buried in his heart had been wrenched forward. He tried to pull his arm away, but Tony’s grip was too tight, his eyes locked on the device. Bucky swayed, trying to pull his hand free, wild and confused and _scared_ , but Tony’s grip was too tight and too magical for Bucky to wrench his hand free.

It didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t move. He was barely able to hear himself scream over the roaring of magic in his ears.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it was over.

Tony dropped his hand like it burned him and sprawled backward, gasping.

A minute passed.

“What have you done?”

Bucky’s voice was twisted and thin, coloured with shock. Tony laid a hand over his eyes and blindly aimed the little device at the man in the cell.

It beeped, a moment later. Tony checked it. The number hand changed; 73.

“I’m sorry,” Tony gasped, trying to ignore the feeling of fire spreading under his skin. He dropped the device, momentarily alarmed at the way his hands were glowing a faint, sinister red. He concentrated, and the red faded away. “But I can solve everything-”

“What did you _do_?” Bucky hissed, launching to his feet. He pulled at the bars, teeth clenched in wild frustration. “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

Tony backed away a little, panting hard.

Bucky drew his shaking hand to his chest, eyes wide. For the first time in years he felt the absence of magical sickness. He knew immediately that most of his magic was gone. He stared at the engineer. “How…? Why!?”

Tony staggered, swaying on his feet, as he carefully took the device from the ground. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Then he turned and left, feeling the burn of magic overwhelming him, filling his chest, taking over what was left of the reactor itself.

He didn’t have long. A few hours, at most. But that was enough.

He stepped over the bodies of Bucky’s guards, stumbled out into the courtyard, and ran forward. 

Then, with a leap, he took to the sky and _soared._

* * *

 

The battleground was in chaos.

Tony saw the source of the problem the moment he crested the walls. On the other side of the river stood a portal, a hundred feet high, through which Chitauri were still spilling in droves. He saw a collection of them _consume_ a solid group of soldiers, an entire collection of Asgardian troops gone for good.

There were far too many of them. Marvel had already been outnumbered. Soldiers were falling like flies to groups of the enemy that operated as one.

 _Hive mind_ , Tony remembered. He’d read Jane’s notes thoroughly over the past few nights, trying to devise strategies and defences against such a foe. _If we can break that link, we might have a chance._

Through the portal he could see something behind the flood of Chitauri flowing through. It was a huge, hulking thing - slightly organic looking - but clearly placed far enough from the portal to be safe from any hope of attack. Tony had no way of knowing _for sure_ that it was the central hive mind, or that there was a central mind controlling

The portal was surrounded, but as Tony soared through the sky above the battle he could still pick out individuals in the fray. Thor launched into the air, propelled by his hammer, and brought down a stampede of Chitauri with one blow to the ground beneath their feet. Hawkeye was perched upon the castle ramparts, launching specially designed arrows that exploded on impact. Natasha was holding the gates to the city, Carol at her side, the two of them seamlessly working through the mass that was quickly descending upon the city entrance.

For several heart-stopping moments, Tony couldn’t spot Steve.

It wasn’t until he banked hard toward the portal that he spotted the familiar red, white and blue armour. The king had made it to the rock platform upon which the portal’s machine stood, and was clearly trying to shut the damn thing off before he was discovered. It was a harebrained scheme, a suicide mission, and Tony swore to himself as he put on another burst of speed just as the portal flickered and disappeared.

The reaction was instantaneous. All the Chitauri, as one, turned to look at where the portal had been. Steve was spotted, and at least a dozen Chitauri launched themselves in the King’s direction.

Tony slammed into the ground beside him, dodged the reflexive blow from Steve’s shield, and reflected a beam of magic off its surface.

Behind him, several Chitauri were thrown backward by the beam.

He didn’t wait for Steve to recover, didn’t wait for new Chitauri to take the place of those he had just killed. He simply threw himself into the wall of alien bodies with a fierce determination, faintly recognising when the king apparently decided he was more friend than foe and turned back to the fight.

They worked flawlessly together. Every time Tony turned to face another group of Chitauri Steve’s shield was raised, perfectly positioned as a mirror and focus for his beams. When Steve moved to combat a new foe, Tony moved with him and defended his back. Every blow was perfectly timed; every turn like a dance that they had orchestrated together.

It was perfect, and if Tony could feel anything other than the blinding heat building beneath his skin he was sure he would be laughing.

Then he was knocked off his feet, slamming into the mud with three Chitauri atop him. He struggled with them, pressing his palms into one of their skulls and firing before throwing it off and lunging for the next. By the time he’d somehow scrambled to his feet he turned to find Steve was gone, and for a moment Tony’s heart stuttered to a stop.

He didn’t need to ask or say anything; he climbed to his feet and lunged at the Chitauri that was strangling Steve, pressed his gauntlet-covered palm to the side of its head and fired. The kickback landed him on his back again, but Steve was alive, he was _breathing_ , now, half choking on each breath, so Tony leapt to his feet and was there to meet the next attacker with a snarl.

Then the next. And then the next.

Tony could feel the nausea overtaking him - it took every fibre of his being _not_ to sway and fall where he stood. He felt Steve recover and climb to his feet and let the king take his back, but just as fiercely fought anything that came within reach, a desperation and frantic need to protect his king and his people overwhelming even the worst of his magic poisoning. He could feel the darkness swelling within him - the gaping maw that stood in his place, the _emptiness_ , the shadow of what was rapidly being consumed alive by the magic he could now feel running through his veins.

He didn’t have much time. 

His eyes landed on the inactive portal, and he immediately knew what he had to do.

He threw Steve’s shield back to its owner and cut toward the portal, scanning the controls. They had clearly modified the damn thing, but the core of it was still there, and his hands flew across the controls as he tweaked them.

“What are you doing!?”

He ignored Steve, frantically adjusting controls. _The sun had been behind the central hive_ , he thought. _It was to the west._ He adjusted the controls without saying a word, moving the portal a few hundred feet to the west of its original coordinates, hoping, _praying_ that it would be close enough. He eyed the tesseract where it sat in its holdings with unease. He would have mere seconds between removing it from its holding and the portal collapsing. He’d have to be fast.

He moved to activate the portal but was wrenched away.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

“Steve, hold on-” he tried to dart around him, but the king latched an arm around the armour and threw him backward.

“You’re one of them!”

“No, Steve, I mean, Your Highness, this is all a big misunderstanding-”

“You’re reopening it!?”

“No, well, I mean, yes, I am-”

“I was right about you!” Steve yelled, and Tony stepped back in alarm. There was something in Steve’s eyes that he didn’t recognise, a blinding fury that he’d only glimpsed when Bucky had died. “Traitor!”

“No, look, I have a _plan_ , Steve-” he launched to his feet and ducked past him, skidding to a stop against the portal controls. “If you just give me a minute to get this thing going again-”

He broke off, choking. He raised shaking hands to his chest - to the blade that had been driven straight through him from behind.

“I should have known you couldn’t be trusted,” Steve hissed. He wrenched the sword from Tony’s back and Tony swayed on his feet, his breath hitching as he slumped to his knees. He looked down to find blood already running down the front of his armour.

Steve stalked around him, his sword glinting with Tony’s blood. He coughed, and his breath rattled with the next breath. He felt his energy waning but desperately threw all of it into maintaining the armour, into keeping up his anonymity as long as possible. He was selfish. He wanted to pretend that he would go home, and Steve would love him, and never know Iron Man’s secret identity. Would never know Tony’s treasonous betrayal.

Steve wiped off the sword and glanced around the rest of the battleground. The fight was still raging around them, as though they were the temporary calm in a hellish storm. “You could have prevented this,” he said. Tony recognised despair in his voice; something akin to resignation. “How could you let all these people die!?”

“I’m-” his head spun, and he swayed on his knees. Steve paced back to him, and it struck Tony that Steve was holding back; that he was reluctant, even now, to inflict a final blow. The king hesitated before him, blue eyes studying the faceplate, trying to see through it. Trying to understand.

Tony couldn’t hold the armour up anymore.

It melted away, dissolved into the air, leaving him gasping and bleeding and half naked on the ground. He clenched his eyes closed, unwilling to witness the moment when Steve understood who he was. He heard a sword clatter to the ground. A thud, as Steve crashed to his own knees in front of him. Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and Tony finally opened his eyes. Steve’s face was flickering through confusion, despair, fear, too fast enough for Tony to follow, especially through the tears that were gathering in his eyes. 

“Tony,” Steve whispered. His voice was hoarse. “What… How did…?”

“I’m sorry,” Tony rasped. He could taste blood, could feel Steve’s shaking hands ghost over his chest, over the blood that ran down the front of his chest. “I’m so… I’m so sorry.”

Then he raised his hands, and _pushed_ , and watched Steve be thrown across the battlefield into what had once been an innocent hay stack.

Tony turned away before he could check whether Steve was moving, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with one wrist but still smearing his own blood across his brow. He reached upward, clutched the portal controls in slippery hands, and hauled himself to his feet. He had to lean against the thing to do it, but he managed to grip the lever hard enough to wrench it down. He could have sobbed when the portal flickered to life again, not to face a field of Chitauri ready to make their way through, but instead against the wall of the monstrous being Tony knew was the central hive mind. If he reached through the portal, he would be able to touch its walls with his fingertips. He let himself bask in the fact that his harebrained plan had worked, that he was so close to redeeming himself. He let himself laugh for a moment, let himself bask in the glee of finally getting something _right_ , before he crashed to his knees.

Distantly, he realised he wouldn’t be able to get up again.

He needed the tesseract. He needed to place it by the giant creature’s side and destroy it, force an explosion as large as the one he’d triggered five years ago, a blast of magic so strong and so potent that even a giant lumbering beast of a brain couldn’t possibly survive.

But it was above him, just out of his reach.

He rose to one knee, straining upward, blood-stained fingertips barely brushing the tesseract’s casing. He managed to drag himself upward enough to lean against the controls again, but his blood-slick hand slipped, and he crashed back to the ground, choking back a sob.

So close. He’d been _so close_.

He pressed a hand against the wound on his chest, desperately trying to think through the blackness he could feel eating away at the edges of his mind. Steve’s shield lay nearby, but Tony didn’t think he could throw it hard enough at the giant monstrosity on the other side of the portal to kill it. He looked up, calculating, and knew that even if he could reach the tesseract and pull it out of its casing, he wouldn’t be able to launch it through the portal and destroy it before the portal flickered closed.

He was out of options.

He’d failed.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Steve had recovered. The king was climbing out of the haystack was staggering toward him, injured but already healing, tripping over bodies both friend and foe, screaming his name, but Tony could only hear the crackling of magic in his ears. He pressed a hand to the wound in his chest, overwhelmed. His fingertips brushed the Core’s casing.

His breath hitched, and he realised it wasn’t all over.

He tore his shirt open and scrabbled at the casing. The core ejected with a soft click. The change was immediate; the moment the crystal was unseated Tony felt the full force of his magic slam into him. It was too much, for a moment, and he was simply caught up in the sensation of coming apart at the seams. Without the core syphoning off the excess magic he was too weak to control it anymore, to keep the light and heat from searing through his blackened veins, to stop a supernatural whirlwind from stirring up around him. With shaking hands, he reached through the portal and let the reactor rest, peacefully, against the side of the gigantic hive mind on the other side.

He swallowed down his nausea and crushed the rising urge to scream with the pain that burned its way through his limbs.

He tried to collect his magic, to contain it within his chest, but there was too much of it. His first magical blast at the reactor was completely ineffective, and Tony cursed to himself. Around him the magic had become a maelstrom, a tornado that tore at his clothes and evaded any attempt at control. He groaned in frustration and glanced around, hoping and praying for a weapon he could use. Anything that could crack the stone, anything that could break it, and let five years of toxic magic out in one single blast.

His eyes landed on the shield, glinting innocently where it had fallen after Steve’s last throw went astray.

He reached for it, inching slightly closer to it until he could get a grip of its edge with blood-slick fingers. It was achingly slow pulling it back with him, but he made it, stopping a moment to pant as he reached the rippling edge of the portal. The red light was flooding from his palms, lighting up his skin from within and sparking between his fingertips like miniature bursts of lightning. He gripped the shield with both hands, balanced the edge of it on the top of the core’s casing, and lifted it above his head.

He hit down once, and the shield cracked the front casing. The magic held within it rippled but stayed.

He tried again and missed. His hands were shaking too much to hold the shield steady. He adjusted his grip, struggling to breathe.

He tried again, but the blow was too weak. The shield clacked harmlessly from the core’s casing.

Faintly Tony heard his name tear through the roar of magic in his ears, and he glanced up to meet Steve’s eyes. The King was stumbling toward him, half running and half tripping along the prone bodies of Chitauri that littered the battlefield between them. Steve reached toward him as he stumbled again.

Tony felt tears spill over.

Steve knew his secret.

He was probably coming to kill him.

Tony tore his eyes away. It didn’t matter - he was dead anyway. He gasped another breath to suppress a sob and tried not to think of how Steve would probably publicly denounce him, how he would likely have him named an official traitor to the crown. He would move on, and find someone new - someone better, someone pure - and Tony would become nothing more than a mass murderer in everyone’s minds.

That was his legacy.

He raised the shield one last time, faintly aware that this was likely his last chance before he faded completely. He could see Steve in his peripheral vision, could hear when the king screamed his name.

Tony closed his eyes and brought the shield down again with all the strength he had left.

The world went white.

*******

_“How’s the Jericho?”_

_Tony barely glanced up from his work, steel parts and paper blueprints strewn around him in perfect disorder._ _“Finishing touches now. Why, are you doubting me?”_

_“Never, kiddo. Just impatient.”_

_Tony smirked as he plucked a pair of pliers from where they_ _’d been weighing down a sheet of blueprints, teasing a part into place with careful precision. “I’ll get it done soon. I had another breakthrough last night - I’ll be able to push this thing harder than I thought. Honestly, the crater this thing will leave could swallow an entire city.”_

_Suddenly, Obie was interested. He stood from where he_ _’d been leaning against the doorway, balancing on the balls of his feet to investigate the machine Tony was slowly piecing together. “A whole city?”_

_The part secure, Tony threw down the pliers and clambered to his feet, suddenly realising the tell-tale ache of several hours spent buried in work; his left leg was totally numb, and his shoulders were tight._ _“Theoretically, yes,” he said, stretching one arm across his chest. He grinned. “How much do you think people would pay for that kind of power?”_

_Obie slipped his hands into his pockets, idly inspecting the chaos of wires and gears that still littered the floor._ _“And what about the karmic retribution problem?”_

_“Haven’t quite gotten around that, yet.” He moved to his forge, selecting a piece of metal and feeding it into its blazing maw. “But I’ve gotten in touch with Stephen Strange. He seems confident that there’s some kind of way to transfer magical energy to another person - we might be able to set up an automated transfer system, or even a way to infuse it back into the device without the magic ever passing into a living being -“_

_Obie straightened, apparently bored._ _“Phenomenal work, as always, but try to hurry it up a little. I have buyers waiting.”_

_Tony glanced up, thrown a little, just in time to catch his mentor letting the door swing closed behind him._

* * *

 

When Steve woke up, the world was grey.

He coughed, frowning, and tried to sit up, but immediately slumped back to the ground when a wave of vertigo slammed into him. There were dead Chitauri around him, scattered wide across the battlefield, Marvel soldiers picking their way between them and checking for any signs of life. He tried to call for help, but he couldn’t hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears.

He sat up, shaking off what seemed to be a fine dusting of shimmering blue sand.

He remembered fighting, remembered being overwhelmed and thinking Marvel was doomed but refusing to sink into despair. He remembered fighting his way to the giant portal that the enemy had set up, remembered how he managed to shut the thing down, and then…

And then…

He saw a heap of ruined machinery that looked like the device that had been powering the portal, and everything came back to him. He couldn’t see Tony from this angle, couldn’t see a single sign of Iron Man either. 

He was dragging himself toward the portal before he even realised why.

* * *

 

_In the end, Tony watched the rocket that brought his doom with a cheer, and the taste of champagne on his lips._

_“To the new gold mine,” Obie said, raising a toast. “And your newfound power.”_

_Tony glanced away from the missile sailing toward the horizon, little more than a bright moving star. Obie was watching him. Tony raised an eyebrow._ _“Power?”_

_Obie grinned, wolf-like, and something in Tony_ _’s chest shifted uneasily. The engineer lowered his drink and stepped back, further into the shade of the tree they were standing under._

_“You’ll be grateful in time, boy,” Obadiah told him. He took a thoughtful sip from his champagne flute and gestured to the falling star. “You’re about to become the most powerful sorcerer in history.”_

_Tony_ _’s mouth ran dry, and he turned to watch the missile’s descent. His hands found the launch controls, wanting to stop the missile’s progression but knowing there was nothing to do. “There’s nothing there,” he said, his voice rising. Obadiah was watching the star fall, a thoughtful smile on his face. Tony stared at him. “You said there was nothing there!”_

_“Nothing important. A completely worthless little town. They’re sitting on an extraordinarily rich source of gold, you know, but refused when I asked them to leave.” Obie set his flute on the small table of refreshments and lifted a canape to his mouth. A waiter refilled his flute without being asked. “They were warned, boy.” A smile. “They deserve this.”_

_Tony_ _’s glass fell from his hand. The single bright star hit the horizon with a flash, a fiery explosion larger than any Tony had ever seen. He stumbled backward, fell, desperately shaking his head. “No, no, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know-”_

_The sound hit - an almighty crash that rattled the table and broke their glasses of wine - just as the pain slammed into him. It stabbed into his heart, like a white-hot sword, and spread through his skin like ripples of acid that threatened to tear him apart at the seams._

_He screamed._

_Obadiah smiled._

* * *

By the time Steve reached the portal machine he could already feel his body healing, the scrapes and bruises stinging slightly less than they did before. He could hear some muffled sounds, now - cheers, maybe. Screams. He didn’t _care_. He gripped the edge of the machine and shoved it out of his way.

Tony was there, facing away from him and perfectly still.

Steve’s heart stopped. He moved without thinking, barely noticing the shards of glass-like crystal that littered the ground. They sliced through his clothing, buried themselves in his skin, but Steve couldn’t find it within himself to care.

Tony didn’t move when he gripped his shoulder, didn’t flinch when Steve turned him onto his back.

“Tony?”

Tony blinked, and groaned, and then his eyes opened, and Steve was lost in relief - until Tony coughed, and Steve noticed the blood coating his teeth. The engineer said something - Steve could see his lips forming the words - but his voice was completely lost in the cacophonous ringing in Steve’s ears.

Tony’s eyes met his. A tear slipped from one of them. Tony tried to speak again, and Steve leaned down to listen, but couldn’t hear anything.

“Don’t,” Steve told him, but Tony’s eyes drifted shut.

“No,” Steve gasped, his voice breaking. He cradled Tony’s cheek with a trembling hand. “Tony, don’t- don’t do this. I need you, you need to come back, I- I can’t-”

Tony’s breath stuttered, then stopped. Steve shook his shoulders, slightly, feeling the panic rising, but completely at a loss as to what he should do. There had been field first aid training at some point, but he couldn’t remember what the steps were - something about checking airways, checking breathing, CPR-

There was a hole in Tony’s chest, exactly where he was meant to do compressions, and Steve choked back a sob, hands hovering. “Tell me what to do!” he begged. “What do I do!? How do I fix this!?”

No response.

He drew a breath and crashed their lips together, a sick parody of the passionate kisses they had shared only recently. He drew back, the taste of ash and _magic_ on his lips, but Tony didn’t draw breath - didn’t move at all.

A tear splashed onto Tony’s cheek.

“ _Please,_ _”_ Steve whispered. He moved to brush the tear away with his thumb. His hands were covered in blood, leaving a streak of red in the wake of his thumb on Tony’s collarbone. He choked on a shuddering breath. “Come back-”

He choked on a flash of pain. 

It started the way it always did - a pin prick of cold above his heart that spread like cracks through ice, the physical sensation almost mundane to him - but it exploded into an agony Steve had never felt before when he realised what it meant. Magic - the unspent life force of a person who died too early - was passed on to the person who killed them.

He’d killed the one person he was most desperate to protect.

It was an all-consuming pain, so much more than just Tony’s remaining life flowing into him, eventually fading away into nothing more than a faint tingle in his fingertips. “Take it back,” he whispered, pulling Tony - Tony’s _body_ \- into his arms, gentle and slow, as though jostling him would wake him from slumber. He tucked Tony’s head under his chin, pulled him close, found bare skin on the back of Tony’s neck and pressed his hand against it, putting everything he had into trying to _push_ his own magic back into him.

It didn’t work.

“Take- take it back,” he begged, his other hand finding the inventor’s chest, and the terrifying hole in the centre of it. He pressed his other hand just below Tony’s collarbone and _pushed_ again, but there was no give, no response. “You’ve gotta… you haven’t fixed the shield yet,” he said, and he was faintly aware that he was babbling. “You’ve gotta wake up, and come home, and- and yell at Clint, and invent something ridiculous and useless and brilliant- _please,_ Tony.”

Tony didn’t move, cradled as he was in Steve’s arms, and Steve felt himself shatter, the pieces resting just as broken as the magical shards that surrounded them.

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered, pressing the words into Tony’s neck, right over where his pulse should have been. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Only then did he let the darkness take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: someone herein is killed by a stab wound inflicted by someone they love. There are two explosions detailed, both with significant casualties. If either of these is particularly upsetting a brief summary can be found [here](https://valenixfix.tumblr.com/post/181584377481/shards-chapter-10). 
> 
> If you're upset or worried by character death, please remember to read the tags ;)
> 
> Also: HAPPY NEW YEAR. It just ticked over an hour and 36 minutes ago where I am. I hope 2019 treats you all well. Come say hello on [tumblr](valenixfix.tumblr.com) or [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/Valenix)!


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